IRLF 


SB    ET    3D3 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


BY  DR.  GUNSAULUS 

MONK  AXD  KJCIGHT 

a  vols.,  izmo $2.50 

PHIDIAS  AKD  OTHER  POEMS 

.,  75  cts.  izmo.,  gilt  top,    1.25 

NIC.HT  AKD  DAY 
Small  quarto,  gilt  top,  .     .     .     1.50 

A.  C.  McCLURC  AND  CO. 
CHICAGO 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND 
DAY 


BY 

FRANK  W.  GUNSAULUS 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  AND  COMPANY 
1896 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  A.  C.  McCLURG  AND  CO. 

A.  D.  1895 


CONTENTS. 


THE   PASSING  OF   TENNYSON         -               -               -  II 

LOVE'S  TIDE      -  14 
LINES     READ     AT     THE     FUNERAL     SERVICES     OF 

EUGENE   FIELD               ....  !$ 

MIRABEAU  -  23 

ON   LOOKING  OUT  OF  THE  WINDOW  OF  EMERSON'S 

LIBRARY  .....  24 

SONNET    ON    BRITON    RIVIERE'S    PAINTING    "DAN- 

lEL'S   ANSWER  TO  THE   KING"  -  -  2$ 

ON  THE   DUCHESS  SFORZA  WITH  THE  STOLEN  CAST 

OF  THE   HEAD  OF   DANTE      -  26 

ON  THE   RECESSION  OF   THE  FALLS    OF    NIAGARA  27 

AT   BEACH   ST.  MARY    -  -  -  -  28 

ERYTHEIA    -  30 

THE   UNVANISHED   EROS  -  '  '  35 

ON  A  FELLOW  PASSENGER  ASLEEP  ON   THE  TRAIN, 
WITH   THE   POEMS   OF   BION   AND   MOSCHUS    IN 

HIS   HANDS        -----  37 

ON  HEARING  OF  WILLIAM  WATSON'S   ILLNESS        -  39 

5 


M191947 


CONTENTS 

ON  THE  FRAGMENTS  OF  SAPPHO'S  POEMS  IN  THE 

EGYPTIAN  MUSEUM  AT  BERLIN  -                     42 

A  POET*S  DREAM  OF  BELATED  LOVE  •      45 

HARVEST  AND  HOPE  47 
AFTER  READING  SIR  EDWIN  ARNOLD'S  VERSES  -       $O 

TO  A  DAWNING  TALENT  52 

ON   MOREAU'S   PICTURE:    "  MAIDEN  WITH    THE 

HEAD  OF  ORPHEUS"      -  -       55 

THE  POET  AND  THE  SOLDIER    -  58 
THE  SUN  SHALL  BE  NO  MORE  THY  LIGHT  BY  DAY; 
NEITHER  FOR  BRIGHTNESS  SHALL  THE  MOON 

GIVE  LIGHT  UNTO  THEE  -      60 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY          -  62 

EARLY  MORNING  AT  PLYMOUTH  -      65 

POETRY  AND  MUSIC  67 

THE  PURITAN  -       69 

LOST  IDEALS  71 

THE  CENTENARY  OF  JOHN  KEATS  -  74 

WAKING  DREAMS  -  86 

CARE  AND  CARELESSNESS    -  88 

AT   SANTA   BARBARA  Ql 

A   WORD  OF    FAITH        -  Q3 

SEA    FOAM    -  95 

CHRISTMAS,    1895  •          96 

A   SONG  OF   WIND  AND   RAIN         -  98 

A   BOAT   SONG  -        IOO 
6 


CONTENTS 

BISMARCK                                   -               ...  IO2 

SKY  AND  SEA  -                              -               -               -  -       IO3 

THE   NAME   OF  GOD                             -  Ioc 
INSOMNIA             ....._ 

LOVE  AND  IMMORTALITY                 ...  IQ3 

A   BALLAD   OF   SPAIN    -               -               -               .  -       III 

THE   PERPETUAL  WOOING               -                         •     .  II4 

BETWEEN  SUMMER  AND  WINTER      -               -  -       117 

WHEN  THE  POET  COMES                  -              .              .  Ug 

THE  COMING  PARADISE                            -               .  -121 

ARCADY         -                              .               .               .               .  I2. 

ONE  NIGHT  AFTERWARD          -              -               .  -       126 

TWO  TRANSMIGRATIONS  I2g 


"How  far  from  Sinai,  in  earth's  measured  time, 

Riseth  Parnassus?"  once  a  minstrel  asked. 
The  striking  bells  of  ages  in  sweet  chime 
Answered  the  poet  in  the  pilgrim  masked: — 

"From  flame-lit  cliffs  to  summits  white  with  snow," 

They  said ; — "from  rhythmic  Truth's  law-giving  hour 
To  rhythmic  Beauty's  haunts  where  myrtles  blow. 
Both  peaks  were  lifted  by  one  thrill  of  power." 

Then,  troubled  sore  that  neither  here  nor  there 
Were  all  earth's  discords  in  pure  concord  held, 

The  minstrel-pilgrim,  singing  in  his  prayer, 
Sought  Him  whose  power  was  love  in  times  of  eld. 

"Beyond  Parnassus  riseth  Calvary," 

God  said.    "Leave  thou  Apollo's  lyric  morn; 
Thence  fare  from  Delphi  to  Gethsemane 

Where  near  the  olives  Love  is  crowned  with  thorn." 
9 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY. 


THE  PASSING  OF  TENNYSON. 

"  On  the  bed  lay  a  figure  of  breathing  marble,  flooded  and  bathed  in 
the  light  of  the  full  moon  which  streamed  through  an  oriel  window,  his  hand 
clasping  a  copy  of  Shakespeare  he  had  asked  for  recently,  and  which  he  kept 
by  him  to  the  end.  The  moonlight,  the  majestic  figure  as  he  lay  there  draw 
ing  a  thicker  breath,  irresistibly  brought  to  our  minds  his  own  '  Passing  of 
King  Arthur.'  "—London  Times. 

WITH  Shakespeare's  voice  to  guide  him 
Where  never  ills  betide  him, 
Our  poet  sleeping  went. 
With  rose-leaves  softly  falling, 

Through  autumn  echoes  calling, 
He  passed  with  soul  attent. 

Sad  moon,  o'er  brown  hills  gleaming, 
Disturb  not  thou  his  dreaming; 
Thy  singer  silent  lies. 
II 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

From  moonlight,  night,  and  wonder, 
He  stepped  to  sunlight  yonder  — 
The  poet's  paradise. 

His  lyre-strings  sweet  and  golden 
Are  yet  with  music  holden  — 

Soft-echoed  minstrelsy. 
Shall  ever  English  nation 
Forget  her  consecration 
Within  his  melody  ? 

And  if  some  tuneless  singer, 
Or  sorrowful  light-bringer, 

Forget  his  song  or  way, — 
This  lyre  with  string  unbroken 
Will  ring,  like  music  spoken, 

And  tremble  toward  God's  day. 

He  knew  what  scents  are   sweetest. 
His  roses  may  be  fleetest 
In  poet's  garden-song ; 
12 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Yet  on  his  page  they  brighten; 

Their  fragrant  splendors  lighten 
Life's  pathway  drear  and  long. 

Bright  bees  will  find  sweet  honey, 

When  flower-bells  fresh  and  sunny 

Encrimson  hills  and  vales; 
And  darkened  souls  woe-stricken 
Will  feel  slain  hopes  re-quicken 

Where  love  nor  spring-tide  fails. 

Sweep  upward,  rare  musician, 
Thou  courtly  song-patrician 

Who  never  wanted  grace ! 
Let  others  smite  and  thunder ; 
Let  man  behold  sweet  wonder 
Upon  our  singer's  face. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND   DAY 


LOVE'S  TIDE. 

CALM,  clear  and  white, 

Thou  jewel  of  the  night, 

O  moon  of  God,  whose  ecstasy  is  light! 

My  stormy  self,  a  sea  of  restlessness, 

Answers  thine  heart ;  and  here  I  praise  and  bless 

Thy  pale  and  splendid  arm  of  strentgh 

That  gathers  all  the  eddies,  and,  at  length, 

In  spite  of  winds  and  rocks  and  waves  allied, 

Resolves  their  discords  in  Love's  rising  tide. 

O  sure  the  faith,  and  strong, 

With  sun-illumined  sky,  or  throng 

Of  clouds  above,  or  surge  within  my  soul  — 

Thou  know'st  that,  hidden,  yet  thou  hast  control. 

So,  sweeping  shoreward  with  pearl-laden  wave, 

My  life-tide  feels  its  gladness  at  its  grave  — 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Glad  that  the  peace  is  all  of  thee 
Who  art  my  guide,  dear  ruler  of  the  sea, 
And  gladder  still,  when  on  the  shore  of  years 
I  cast  some  pearls  made  brighter  by  my  tears. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND   DAY 


LINES    READ    AT   THE    FUNERAL    SERVICES 
OF    EUGENE    FIELD. 

NOVEMBER  6,  1895. 

'MiDST  rustling  of  leaves  in  the  rich  autumn  air, 
At  eve,  when  man's  life  is  an  unuttered  prayer, 

There  came  thro'  the  dusk,   each   with  torch  shining 
bright, 

From  far  and  from  near,  in  his  sorrow  bedight, 
The  old  earth's  lone  children,  o'er  land  and  o'er  wave, 
Who  gathered  around  their  dear  poet's  loved  grave. 

With  trumpet  and  drum,  but  in  silence,  they  came; 
Their  paths  were  illumed  by  their  torches'  mild  flame 

Whose  soft  lambent  streams  by  love's  glory  were  lit ; 

And  where  fairy  knights  and  bright  elves  used  to  flit 
Across  the  wan  world  when  the  lights  quivered  dim, 
These  watched  at  the  grave  and  were  mourning  for  him. 
16 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Sweet  children  were  there,  and  of  every  degree, 
Who  caroled  his  songs  at  a  fond  mother's  knee, 
And  Wynken  and  Blynken  and  Nod  came  to  meet 
The  Rock-a-by  Lady  from  Hush-a-By  Street; 
And  on  toward  the  starry  blue  ocean  on  high 
Ascended  the  children's  sad,  orphan-like  cry. 

"O,  children's  own  lover  and  minstrel,"  they  said, 
"At  length  you  have  found  here  your  own  trundle-bed, 
Where,  like  unto  ours  at  the  closing  of  day, 
Your  lips  sing  as  sweet  as  they  did  in  your  play. 
Dear  Shepherd,  who  loveth  so  well  all  thy  sheep, 
Watch  over  our  loved  one  who  lies  here  asleep.' 

Lo,  as  they  went  wending  o'er  roadway  and  grass, 
I  saw  one  familiar  and  sweet.    Did  he  pass 
Away  from  the  troop  as  they  journeyed  along 
With  drum-beat  and  dolls  and  with  lullaby-song? 
Ah,  nay ;  at  their  head  marched  with  step  ne'er  so  true 
The  poet's  beloved  one — his  Little  Boy  Blue. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND   DAY 

"O,  Little  Boy  Blue!  and  how  came  you  so  far 
From  lands  beyond  ocean  and  cloud-bank  and  star? 

Fared  you  all  this  way  for  your  babyhood  toy  ? 

Have  you  not  forgotten  our  poet  —  and  boy?" 
He  smiled  as  he  moved  with  the  children  alone; 
Then  waited  and  prayed  o'er  his  loved  and  his  own. 

"  Tis  not  a  great  change,"  said  the  Little  Boy  Blue, 
"From  heaven  to  earth,"  —  and  he  spake  as  he  knew — 

"Dear  children  are  there  who  have   learned  by  his 
song 

That  Christ  is  the  Shepherd  both  tender  and  strong ; 
In  heaven,  there's  nothing  so  sweet  in  our  joys 
As  this,  that  we  sing  what  we  learned  here  as  boys." 

O  faithless  one,  striving  to  scatter  your  fear, 
This  bard  was  no  doubter;  through  sunburst  or  tear 
He  sang  such  a  song  that  the  babe  at  her  breast 
Passed  thence  with  his  mother  to  God's  deeper  rest. 
Who  breathes  with  these  songs  in  his  worship  of  love 
May  sing  them  again  in  the  home-land  above. 

18 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

There  came  older  children  with  gray  locks  and  white, 
And  near  to  that  grave  in  the  waning  of  light 

They  thanked  the  dead  singer  that,  'midst  din  and 
stress, 

When  childhood  was  fading,  'twas  his  gift  to  bless, 
And  through  all  the  clang  and  the  dust-cloud  of  time 
To  utter  again  our  lost  childhood's  loved  rhyme. 

And  One  came  more  near,  who,  when  once  crowned 

with  thorn, 
Enrayed  the  damp  night  till  it  thrilled  with  life's  morn ; 

His  own  heart  was  burthened  for  you  and  for  me; 

His  own  blood  redeemeth  the  whole  world  and  thee. 
He  knew  what  true  saving  from  sin's  direst  harms 
Has  gathered  the  children  within  His  strong  arms. 

O,  Genius  of  heaven  and  earth,  even  here, 
In  hours  too  much  hurried  for  prayer  or  for  tear, 
Thy  voice  once  again  o'er  our  tense-chorded  strings 
Outbreathes,  as  our  poet  immortally  sings: 
"The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  given  alone 
To  them  who,  like  children,  look  up  to  God's  throne." 
19 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

Dear  minstrel  and  lover,  who,  through  two  score  years, 

Found  tears  in  our  laughter  and  smiles  in  our  tears, 
Dreamed  you  how  the  Christ,  to  the  heart  of  our  days, 
Did  speak  once  again  in  your  own  gentle  lays  ? 

Philosophers  falter,  where,  with  your  sweet  trust, 

We  bury  our  poet's  melodious  dust. 

Full  soon  o'er  God's  Acre  the  robins  will  sing 
At  birth  of  the  dawn-light  athrob  with  the  spring  ; 
Their  notes  will  be  sweeter  than  ever,  next  June, 

When   near  your   own  grave   they  learn   secrets    of 

tune. 

The  meadow-lark's  wings,  when  the  wild  flowers  unfold, 
Will  flutter  above  you  with  music  untold  — 

Untold,  save  to  you,  who,  to  harmony  born, 
By  birth-right  of  poet,  through  midnight  and  morn, 
Found  this  ancient  world  of  ours  musical  still, 
And  scorned  not  its  emptiest  pipe  to  refill, 
Till  yonder,  where  bees,  honey-burdened,  will  hum, 
The  pilgrims  through  ages  to  Hybla  will  come. 

20 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

What  said  you  to  Horace  when  Charon's  lone  boat 
Came  near  unto  landing,  and,  with  his  old  note, 
He  spake  of  the  echoes  that  swept  from  your  farm, 
And  asked  if  your  heart  still  was  pulsing  and  warm  ? 
Methinks  you  had  laughter  with  poet  and  friend, — 
Fine  laughter,  whose  melody  never  may  end. 

Yet,  far  in  the  past,  o'er  the  world  Horace  knew, 
There  lifted  a  tree  that  the  earth's  forest  grew, 

And   stretched   on  the  cross,  reigned  the   Christmas 
Day's  King 

Who  teacheth  new  ages  and  voices  to  sing. 
The  lyre  of  your  spirit  was  strung  by  His  hands 
Who  leadeth  all  children  to  heavenly  lands. 

Our  Christmas  is  coming.     How  ever  shall  we 
Have  hearts  leaping  up  with  the  old  Christmas  glee  ? 
We'll  wait  at  the  dawn  for  your  poem  and  tale  ? 
That  morn  will  be  strange,  and  our  good  cheer  will 

fail; 

And  Santa  Claus,  maybe,  will  just  stay  away, 
Forgetful  of  us  on  the  next  Christmas  Day. 
21 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Marshmallows  like  yours  will  not  grow  on  the  trees, 
Nor  dinkey-birds  sing  over  wonderful   seas, 
When  you  lie  there  so  still,  and  each  waits  for  his 

gown 

To  depart  on  the  train  for  your  blest  Shut-Eye  Town  ; 
But  the  Christchild   will   come,  and   some   time,  after 

night, 
We'll  meet  you  at  morning  with  Christmas  delight. 


22 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


MIRABEAU. 

AFTER  READING  VON  HOLST*S  "FRENCH  REVOLUTION." 

UNLEASHING  storms  that  calm  might  brood  o'er  France, 
Freeing  the  lightnings  lest  Truth's  path  be  lost, 
Mailed  knight  of  Justice  willing  for  the  cost, 
What  prisoned  noons  hide  in  thy  jeweled  lance! 
Voice  of  the  age,  our  discord  turns  askance 
To  learn  thy  music  through  the  holocaust 
That,  Babel-tongued,  transformed  to  Pentecost 
When  man  knew  man  beneath  thy  prophet  glance. 

Kingly  with  tempests,  teach  our  timid  time 
What  bloom  of  lilies  grows  when  northern  blasts 
Meet  rose-mouthed  south  winds  on  man's  April  plain. 
Storm-girt  are  we — once  let  such  speech  sublime 
Welcome  the  thunders  while  our  old  world  lasts 
To  feel  upon  its  breast  God's  gift  of  rain. 
23 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


ON    LOOKING    OUT    OF   THE   WINDOW   OF 
EMERSON'S    LIBRARY. 

HERE  still  he  sits  and  waiting  hears  the  pines 
Murmur  their  secret  and  the  Northwind  sing. 
Here  where  the  robin  in  a  hint  of  spring 
Finds  summer-song  in  untranslated  lines 
Left  in  his  throat,  e'en  yet  this  soul  divines 
Runes  mystic,  primal,  like  the  blossoming 
Grown  in  the  hour  of  life's  first  opening  — 
Still  reads  the  seer  the  world's  unconscious  signs. 

O  for  one  moment  when  the  silent  chords, 
Solemnly  strung  with  harmony  complete, 
Once  more  may  hold  within  truth's  ample  theme 
All  vagrant  tones  and  all  unuttered  words! 
Then  midst  the  noise  of  life's  accustomed  street 
Souls  might  find  triumph  in  his  calm  supreme. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


SONNET    ON    BRITON    RIVIERE'S    PAINTING: 
"DANIEL'S   ANSWER    TO    THE    KING." 

"An,  if  'twere  true,  how  greater  far  than  song 
The  fact  itself!   An  Hebrew  prophet-seer 
Alone,  unharmed,  where  falchioned  Death  flames  clear 
From  yellow  eye-balls  burning  in  a  throng 
Of  lions ;   and,  through  instants  roars  prolong, 
Pants  with  a  blood-thirst,  trembles  at  a  tear 
Just  fallen  from  the  prophet's  Israel  dear ; 
Then  crouches,  snarling  like  a  vanquished  wrong." 

'Tis  true.    What  boots  it,  critic,  thou  dost  doubt  ? 
Open  a  soul's  den.    Ask  Love's  angel  bound: 
"Art  safe  ?  "    Lo,  crowned  Evil  from  above 
Listens,  through  compromise,  to  hear  Death's  shout, 
While  sharp-clawed  passions  wander  silent  round, 
Dazed,  cowered,  and  conquered  by  transfigured  love. 
25 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


ON    THE     DUCHESS     SFORZA    WITH    THE 

STOLEN    CAST    OF    THE    HEAD 

OF    DANTE. 

FAIR  dame  of  Italy,  thy  scarf  of  green 
Hides  Dante's  sad  and  lightning-bearing  face. 
Hold  thou  those  lips  of  scorn!     Thy  kingly  race 

Will  sit  midst  gems  and  gold,  yet  may  not  glean 

The  harvest-fields  he  planted  'neath  the  sheen 
Of  truths  divine,  unwelcome  to  their  grace. 
Mark  thou  the  hour  to  be,  when,  in  his  place 

Of  rule,  some  son  of  thine  beholds  that  mien. 

Lo,  this  the  hour!     Thy  scarf  no  more  may  hide 
His  lips  of  flame.    Savonarola  cries. 

Tis  Dante's  Samson  leads  the  foxes  on  ; 

And,  leagued  with  fire,  they  bring  the  furious  tide 
Scathing  the  world  while  a  Lorenzo  dies  — 

A  world  whose  ruin  turns  to  golden  dawn. 
26 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


ON  THE  RECESSION  OF  THE  FALLS  OF 
NIAGARA. 

GREAT  time-piece  of  eternity  —  earth's  dial  — 
Thou  tumult-thunder  of  the  clock  of  years, 
Whose  diapason  breeds  a  league  of  fears 

That  earth  grows  old  and  hastens  to  her  trial ! 

One  day  the  misty  splendor  hid  the  pile 
Of  stone  now  long  dissolved  where  man  up-rears 
His  city- towers,  from  whence  his  curious  ears 

List  to  thine  anthem,  sounding  mile  on  mile. 

So,  strong  opinions  —  erstwhile  clouds  on  high 
From  Truth's  vast  sea,  then  gathered  into  streams  — 
Tumbled  and  plunged  'neath  rainbow-colored  bars. 
In  thought's  wide  realm  the  awful  gorges  lie ; 
And  deep,  this  side  receding  falls,  still  gleams 
A  river's  current  mirroring  the  stars. 
27 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


AT    BEACH    ST.    MARY. 

THE  long  brown  arm  thrusts  out  to  sea 
A  headland  lost  in  sliding  sands  ; 

So  Time  indents  Eternity; 

We  live  on  Being's  borderlands. 

Man  builds  his  lighthouse  of  Desire, 
Waits  here  to  greet  a  coming  sail ; 

Brings  golden  oil  for  Hope's  faint  fire, 
And  will  not  let  his  beacon  fail. 

Here  on  the  fronting  height  abide 

The  prophets  with  their  faith  divine  ; 

Here  see  they  first  the  moon-drawn  tide 
Tremble  along  Life's  limit-line. 


28 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Afar  beyond,  from  shores  unseen, 

Thrusts  out  an  arm  enflowered  and  strong 
And  they  who  watch  there  hear,  I  ween, 

The  same  deep-billowed  ocean-song. 

And  deeper  than  the  sea,  below 

Unmeasured  calm  or  thunder-shock, 

'Neath  darksome  mystery  and  glow, 
Firm  lies  the  floor  of  hidden  rock. 


29 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


ERYTHEIA. 

READ     ON    THE     ANNIVERSARY    OF    THE     FIRST     MEET 
ING   OF   THE    PARLIAMENT    OF    RELIGIONS. — 
COLUMBIAN   EXPOSITION,    1893. 


"  Erytheia,  the  legendary  region  round  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  probably 
took  its  name  from  the  redness  of  the  west  under  which  the  Greeks  saw  it." 

Note  of  Matthew  Arnold. 


NONE  knew  where  the  limit-line  was  drawn 
By  viewless  hands  on  the  Orient  seas, 

Or  where  the  West  removed  when  dawn 
Swept  through  the  Pillars  of  Hercules. 


And  many  a  sailor,  with  thoughts  that  burned 
'Neath  a  formless  incense-cloud  of  faith, 

Sat  in  his  shallop  and  fondly  turned 
To  question  the  stars'  resplendent  wraith. 
30 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Afar  beyond  where  the  wise  ones  said, 
Rose  full  on  his  dreams  a  visioned  place. 

Was  it  a  home  for  the  happy  dead, 
Or  the  golden  land  of  a  nobler  race  ? 

A  sailor  is  man,  or  a  landsman  thrilled 
E'en  yet  with  a  faith  that  sends  its  crew 

Where  he  thinks  the  Orient  waves  are  stilled, 
And  the  West  begins  in  the  fire-streaked  blue. 

There  are  wings  that  oft  in  the  tranquil  air 
Show  bright  in  the  glance  of  the  morning  sun  ; 

They  poise  and  flutter  and  vanish  where 
The  horizon  flames  when  the  day  is  done. 

There  are  triremes  sailing  far  away 

'Neath  the  purple  clouds ;  and  at  night  their  oars 
Dip  gold  where  the  moonlit  tides  convey 

Ocean  to  ocean  'twixt  unknown  shores. 

There  are  Tritons,  too,  with  horns  of  pearl ; 
And  far  o'er  the  shimmering  waves  there  sound 
31 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

To  the  mist-clad  stars,  when  the  waves  up-curl, 
Such  tones  as  from  sea  to  sky  rebound. 

Melodious  winds  drift  through  the  trees; 

Are  they  echoed  strains  of  man's  songs  unsung  ? 
For  this  is  the  soul's  Hesperides 

Where  the  apples  grow  and  the  heart  is  young. 

Never  too  high  for  the  yearning  hand, 

The  wine-red  fruit  is  forever  fair. 
The  white-breathed  frosts  in  this  sun-girt  land 

Kiss  buds  to  bloom  in  immortal  air. 

These  buds  were  hopes  that  had  shriveled  here 
In  a  common  wind  where  the  birds  grow  mute. 

So  full  of  June  is  that  atmosphere, 
Each  bending  reed  is  a  lover's  flute. 

O  Man,  are  these  but  thy  thoughts  grown  strong 
For  a  dream's  emprise  to  the  unnamed  seas  ? 

Dost  thou  breed  such  visions  as  ever  throng 
Beyond  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  ? 
32 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 
* 

Shall  never  some  wise  geographer 

Set  stakes  where  begins  thy  land  of  the  West  ? 
Shall  thought  disdain  as  a  voyager 

A  spot  where  the  Orient  ends  its  quest  ? 

The  mariner's  dream  of  the  East  is  true  — 
"  Sail  west,  my  soul,  to  thy  far  Cathay ! " 

Man's  thoughts  o'er  a  sunset  field  of  blue 
Sweep  through  the  West  to  the  East  to-day. 

Great  truths  transform,  yet  are  never  lies, 
Though  East  prove  West,  if  we  sail  too  far  — 

Who  thought  him  to  live  as  a  sacrifice 
Makes  soul  for  himself,  finds  his  self's  true  star. 

Quoth  I:     "To  westward  toward  Faith's  own  shore 
Of  citrus  and  balm  for  the  weary  mind ; 

Good-bye  to  Reason!"  I  cried — but  more; 
True  Reason  in  Faith  is  the  goal  I  find. 

Sunrise  through  sunset  glows  in  sunrise. 
Westernmost  thoughts  ope  gates  in  the  East. 
33 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

At  Concord  lived  Saadi ;   'neath  Occident  skies 
Our  Emerson  sits  at  the  Orient's  feast. 

O  Christ,  even  Thou  art  highest  and  Lord, 
Master  of  Worlds  and  this  heart  of  mine, 

Lowliest  one  and  most  adored, 

Most  human  and  near  when  most  divine. 

Ah,  soul,  thy  world  is  an  orb  so  large, 
Of  circles  so  many  and  sweep  so  vast! 

Forever  thou  goest  from  marge  to  marge, 
Yet  never  the  Occident  gates  are  passed. 

And  yonder  where  Erytheia  vies 
With  visions  of  life  and  love  and  dream, 

Our  fancies  sail  where  the  old  day  dies 

In  the  sundawn's  rush  of  new  day  supreme. 


34 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


THE    UNVANISHED    EROS. 

'Tis  a  time  when  the  gods  that  are  left  us 

Are  dreams  sitting  loveless  and  lone, 
And  the  doubt  that  profanely  bereft  us 

Has  melted  the  gold  of  a  throne. 
But  hid  near  the  sapphire-built  portal 

There's  one  that  looks  younger  this  morn 
Than  when  Aphrodite  immortal 

Kissed  Eros  that  hour  he  was  born. 

In  cold  and  grey  splendor  beholden 

The  gods,  one  by  one,  disappear. 
Faith  fears  for  her  chalices  golden ; 

No  more  flames  the  sun's  charioteer. 
But  out  of  the  vacancy  glowing 

One  god  comes  as  strong  as  of  yore. 
One  Eden  was  lost  us  by  knowing; 

Tis  Eros  who  bids  us  know  more. 
35 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

Away  on  the  mountains  of  wonder 

Are  footprints  that  mark  their  retreat. 
There's  hardly  a  memory  yonder 

Of  gods  who  for  long  held  their  seat. 
But  where  there's  a  heart  with  an  ember 

Unblown  into  flames  of  desire, 
This  god  comes  through  June  or  December 

And  lends  his  sweet  breath  to  the  fire. 

Why  stayed  he,  though  all  the  rest  vanished  ? 

Why  worked  he  where  fades  the  last  prayer? 
None  know;  but  of  everything  banished 

Man  recks  not,  if  Eros  be  fair. 
For  love,  after  all,  is  so  holy, 

Methinks  this  one  god,  having  stayed, 
Will  bring  the  rest  back  to  us,  slowly, 

And  man  will  not  scorn  that  he  prayed. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


ON    A    FELLOW -PASSENGER    ASLEEP    ON 

THE   TRAIN,  WITH  THE   POEMS  OF 

BION    AND    MOSCHUS    IN 

HIS    HANDS. 

WAKE,  wake  him  not ;  a  book  lies  in  his  hands. 
Bion  and  Moschus  live  within  his  dream. 
Tired  of  our  world,  he  fares  in  other  lands, 
Wanders  with  these  beside  Ilyssus'  stream. 

Dull,  even  sweet,  the  rumble  of  the  train; 
Tis  Circe  singing  near  her  golden  loom. 
No  garish  show  afflicts  his  charmed  brain ; 
Demeter's  poppies  brighten  o'er  her  tomb. 

Now,  half-awake,  he  looks  on  star-lit  trees  — 
Sees  the  white  huntress  in  her  eager  chase. 
Wake,  wake  him  not— upon  the  fragrant  breeze 
Let  horn  and  hound  announce  her  rapid  pace. 
37 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

Unbanished  gods  roam  o'er  the  thymy  hills ; 
Calm  shadows  sleep  upon  the  purple  grapes. 
Hid  are  the  naiads  near  the  star-gemmed  rills; 
Far  through  the  moonlight  wander  lovelorn  shades. 

Grey  olives  shade  the  dancing  dryad's  smile; 
Flutes   pour  their    raptures    through    that   visioned 

stream ; 

Echoes  like  these  our  modern  cares  beguile  — 
Soft-whispering  music  from  the  old   Greek's  dream. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


ON    HEARING    OF    WILLIAM    WATSON'S 
ILLNESS. 


"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  Mr.  Watson  has  been  less  well  during  the 
present  week.  The  nervous  tension  which  always  follows  upon  publication 
may  well  have  proved  too  much  for  him ;  it  is  to  be  hoped  the  relapse  is  only 
momentary." — The  Critic 's  London  Correspondence. 


I. 

No:    not  the  sending  forth  his  printed  lines 
Has  robbed  the  poet  of  his  calmer  mood  ; 

But  finding  them  along  this  life's  confines 
Where  mysteries  within  our  knowledge  brood. 

He  faltered  first,  not  when  he  spake  her  name, 

But  when  Truth  kissed  him  with  her  radiant  flame. 

II. 

Tense  chords  are  his,  and  yet  so  fine  that  Day, 

Shining  upon  them  for  a  lucent  while, 
Makes  light  too  heavy ;   and  what  time  his  lay 
39 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Outbreathes,  let  not  his  lovers  speak  or  smile, 
Lest  their  too  urgent  gladness  smite  his  brain 
And  cheat  the  harp  aeolian  of  its  strain. 


III. 


This  is  the  price  he  pays,  whose  eager  youth 

Has  waited  long   upon   earth's   farthest    shores    and 
strained 

Dear  eyes  of  love  and  longing  after  Truth  — 

This,  that  'neath  lightning-flash,  the  vision  gained, 

The  soul's  eyes  ache  to  rest  their  happy  sight, 

E'en  though  the  darkness  deepen  into  night. 

IV. 

The  poet's  mind  climbs  highest ;   and  his  flesh 

Refines  to  filament  of  wonderment. 
This  bears  him  up  within  its  wing-like  mesh 

Until  he  grasps  the  goal  of  his  intent ; 
And,  holding  fast  the  gain,  his  overweight 
Falls  through  to  flesh  again,  inviolate. 
40 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

V. 

O  what  an  hour  shall  be  when,  full  withdrawn 
From  that  high  tower  he  gropes  in  toward  the  stars; 

He,  fearing  not  its  fragile  steps,  feels  dawn 
Enswathe  his  soul  unfleshed  ;  and  through  broad  bars 

Of  morning,  long-wooed  Truth  herself  shall  say : 

"  Fear  not ;   thou  livest  in  unclouded  day  !  " 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 


ON  THE    FRAGMENTS    OF   SAPPHO'S    POEMS 

IN    THE    EGYPTIAN    MUSEUM 

AT    BERLIN. 


RED  bloom  of  Lesbian  apple-orchards  wafted  through 

long  years 
Falls  on  these   shriveled   parchments  like   a    rain  of 

fragrant  fire  ; 
Yet  burns  not,  save  where  Love's  half-hidden  palimpsest 

appears, 

Flame  meeting  flame,  in  rain  of  Sappho's  tears — Love's 
rapt  desire. 

II. 

If  these  be  leaves  of  song,  blown   hither  o'er  an  aeon 

mute, 

Oft    eddying   with    the    aeon's    tempests — ever   borne 
along, 

42 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

How  sweeter  far  the  hour  when  green-hid  boughs  bent 

low  with  fruit, 

And  Sappho  read  her  love-lay,  bloom  and  fruitage, 
all  a  song. 


III. 


If  these  be  ruins  of  the  gems  crushed  'neath  the  feet 

of  Time, 
Firm-chambered  lights  e'en  yet  to  love-crowned  souls 

illuminate, 

Glints  of  her  passion,  fragments  of  a  burning  jewel- 
rhyme  ; 

What  was  the  coronet  she  wore  ?    O  answer,  shame 
less  Fate! 


IV. 


O'er  these  from  Lesbos  and  her  love-couch  shine  reful 
gent  moons, 

Grow  thick,    brown    myrtle,    starry  jonquil,    floating 
maiden-hair. 

43 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Out   of   her   heart-throb,  quick   and   troubled,  breathe 

aeolian  tunes ; 
Red  oleander,  love-emblazoned,  tints  the  dreamy  air. 

V. 

These  be  not  vineyards  on  the  hillside,  clustered  fruit 

and  vine ; 

These  be  not  blossoms  in  the  valley,  gold  of  daf 
fodil - 
These  are  the  red  drops  in  Time's  chalice   of  Love's 

wildering  wine ; 

These  are  the  perfume  from  Life's  garden  Sappho's 
songs  distill. 


H 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


A  POET'S  DREAM  OF  BELATED  LOVE. 

WE  two  sat  late  at  eventime 

Awake  at  polishing  a  rhyme. 

The  apple-boughs  dropped  leaves  of  snow; 

The  goldfinch  called  his  mate  below 

Our  casement,  where  the  moonlight  fair 

Shed  silver  on  the  springtide  air; 

And  round  me  long  white  arms  would  twine 

When  Love  breathed  music  o'er  my  rhyme. 

Long  years  alone,  till  eventime, 
Each  worked  on  Life's  old  stubborn  rhyme. 
False  pauses  came ;   and  music  went 
With  every  hapless  discord  blent. 
Syllabic  blunders  wrought  their  way 
Through  weary  night  and  vacant  day, 
Until,  at  length,  at  eventime, 
We  wrought  together  on  that  rhyme. 
45 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

O  blessed  peace  of  eventime, 

Where  long  years  melted  in  that  rhyme ! 

And  thousand  tear-lit,  loveless  days 

Poured  all  their  unsuspected  lays 

Within  the  swelling  rapture  caught ; 

When  thought  was  tune  and  tune  was  thought, 

And  thou  wast  glad  at  eventime 

To  help  me  set  that  shining  rhyme. 


46 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


HARVEST   AND    HOPE. 

WITHIN  light  tufts  of  yellow  grass 
The  winds  of  Autumn  play  and  moan. 

White  clouds,  like  ghosts  that  change  and  pass, 
Fleck  vale  and  mead,  and  then  are  flown. 

Shy  whortleberries,  dark  and  blue, 
Hide  in  lone  marshes  wet  and  green  ; 

Wild  clematis  and  roses,  too, 
^low  on  the  hillsides  just  between. 

In  all  the  wayside's  dust,  and  there 
Amidst  harsh  grass  and  in  wan  fields, 

The  goldenrod,  with  wealth  to  spare, 
The  treasured  ore  of  summer  yields. 


47 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

The  sunrise  drifts  among  the  pines 
And  lingers  on  the  maple-bough 

So  long,  in  crimson  touch  there  shines 
His  flaming  word:    "Tis  Autumn  now." 

The  plover,  flying  southward,  wings 
His  way  across  the  shadowed  hills ; 

The  brown  thrush,  musing  sadly,  sings, 
And  sunset  brings  the  whippoorwills. 

The  tall,  dry  reeds  that  pipe  with  tune 
What  time  the  lyric  breezes  come, 

Were  erstwhile  flower-crowned  loves  of  June, 
Yet  in  their  richer  days  were  dumb. 

Dear  days  agone,  when  all  my  world 
Of  dream  and  truth  and  love's  desire 

Lay  like  a  blossom  closely  whorled 
Within  a  soft  green  vase  of  fire  — 

Freed  now  by  blooming,  through  the  days 
Of  summer  sun  and  Nature's  need, 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

I  blame  not  any  strange  delays; 
Life  comes  at  length  to  be  a  seed. 

Beyond  the  white  and  stormful  dearth, 
Through  snows  and  rain,  comes  fairy  Spring ; 

Then  autumn-seed  will  greet  warm  earth, 
And  dear  old  birds  again  will  sing. 


49 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 


AFTER    READING   SIR    EDWIN    ARNOLD'S 
VERSES. 

GIVE  me  red  loamy  poppy-lands  this  summer  night, 
Let  Lethe's  stream  flow  soft  'twixt  banks  of  moon- 
drenched  rue. 

Let  me  not  waken  in  that  paradise  of  light 
Where  sleeps  the  bulbul  with  a  waft  of  song  —  and 
you. 

But  let  me  dream  and   through   the  silvery  pleasaunce 

roam, 
Where   lemon-grass   grows   spear-like  and   the  blue 

doves  coo. 

There  may  I  pluck  white  lotus   from  the  whiter  foam, 
And  on  the  rippled  shores  find  peace  and  love  —  and 
you. 

50 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Go  with  me,  find  with  me  the  sun-bird's  glowing  nest, 
Hid  'neath  a  musky  branch  of  amaranth  and  dew. 

Shake  not  the  leafage  dense,  but  let  us  love  and  rest. 
I  love  your  lute  when  silent,  and  your  lips — and  you. 

So  will  we  dream  within  the  cloistered  green  and  gold, 
Where  sapphired  wings  are  folded  all  the  warm  night 

through. 
And  when  we  wake  enclasped  in  new  love  ne'er  grown 

old, 

I  will  content  my  love  with  rest  and  morning — and 
with  you. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 


TO    A    DAWNING    TALENT. 

And  was  it  darkness,  only  night  o'erlit, 
Starshine  mistaken  for  completed  day  — 

That  late  dream-life  wherein  we  used  to  sit, 
Restless,  yet  joyful,  in  our  peaceful  way? 

Something  has  happened  to  our  fitful  sleep, 
Less  like  our  sleep  than  like  that  straying  beam  — 

O'er  all  the  land  and  far  across  the  deep 
Falters,  then  vanishes,  a  radiant  stream. 

New  mystery  abides  in  sky,  on  earth, 
Paler  and  smaller  grows  the  best-loved  star. 

What  strange  and  sacred  sense  of  painful  birth 
Clings  to  thy  speech, —  Soul,  gazing  near  and  far? 

Morn  !     Is  it  morn  ?    And  dreams  were  not  in  vain  ? 
Ah,  couldst  thou  not  thy  stars  and  mine  keep   fast  ? 
52 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

How,  losing  them,  may  we  old  paths  regain, 
Find  rest  and  solace  in  that  fadeless  past? 

Never  return  ?    O  friend,  that  world  was  good. 

Its  mystery  we  knew  with  old  delight  — 
What  garniture  of  moonbeams  o'er  the  wood ! 

I  know  not  this  new  mystery  of  light. 

Within  thy  speech  that  trembled  not  before, 
What  age-long  runes  more  old  than  yesterday ! 

Like  sea-shells,  ocean-swept  upon  the  shore, 
Breathing  the  world-wide  ocean's  primal  lay. 

Hast  thou  gone  back  to  God,  or  comest  near 
To  God  whose  daytime  floods  thy  lips  with  truth  ? 

Where  didst  thou  leave  thy  wistful  boyish  fear  ? 
Thou  seemest  old  —  thou  blithe,  reliant  youth! 

And  nevermore  shall  we  in  calm  rehearse 
Our  chronicle  of  things  and  ways  God  made? 

Nay!  everywhere  a  bright  new  universe, 
And  everywhere  the  night  and  starlight  fade ! 

53 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

I  go  with  thee,  and,  mist-enfolded,  trust. 

Surely  the  gray  will  yellow  into  gold  ! 
Yea,  these  are  gems.    Last  night  they  were  but  dust. 

Earth's  self  may  be  a  star  of  wealth  untold. 

Speak  once  again  !    Along  the  mighty  ridge 
Where  paced  our  ghosts,  are  bands  of  crimson  snow. 

This  is  the  day ;  and  there  a  chorded  bridge 
Arches  the  mist  of  waters  far  below. 

Earth  waited  thee.    These  beads  of  crystal  morn, 
Rondured  in  sunrise,  were  but  cold  and  wet. 

Speak  thou  !     Say  all !     O  herald  newly  born  ! 
My  soul  will  feel  at  home  in  daytime  yet. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 


ON   MOREAU'S   PICTURE:   "MAIDEN  WITH 
THE   HEAD  OF  ORPHEUS." 


"  After  the  killing  and  dismemberment  of  Orpheus  by  the  Thracian 
women,  his  head  and  lyre  were  thrown  into  the  Hebrus.  This  maiden  has 
recovered  his  head  and  is  about  to  give  it  to  the  Muses  for  burial  at  Libethra, 
in  that  grave  above  which  the  nightingale  sings  as  nowhere  else  in  Greece." 


"And  is  it  he?  The  Furies  heard  his  lyre  and  wept 
The  while  he  sought  Eurydice  and  was  undone, 

When  Proserpine  was  tears  and  Pluto's  curses  slept. 
Ah,  move,  dear  lips,  in  whispered  song  —  Apollo's  son. 

"Thy  cheeks  are  wet  with  Hebrus,  and  I  kiss  thine  hair 
That  floated  on  the  flood  like  wind-borne  lays  ; 

What  time  these  lips  of  honeyed  beauty  kissed  the  air 
Abloom  with  melodies  of  sorrow-burdened  praise. 

"  O  Thracian  women,  whom  slain  loveliness  may  shame, 
My  newborn  love  is  hate  for  ye !    I  hear  your  scream 
55 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

That  drowned  within  its  horror  music's  heart  of  flame. 
Yet  see !     The  full  lips  sing  as  in  a  glorious  dream. 

"  Far  up  within  the  symphony  of  fadeless  tires, 
Great  Zeus  hath  set  this  lyre  to  quiver  with  a  song  — 

Song  lucent,  full  and  free,  to  order  all  their  choirs 
To  music  growing  sweeter  through  the  ages  long. 

"List!    do  they  move  again  —  these   rose-lips  touched 

with  dews  — 

Not  dews  of  death,  but  drops  of  harmony  distilled  ? 
Yea  ;  for  his  loving  shade  her  long-lost  ghost  pursues  — 
Soon  through  her  kisses  shall  his  dreaming  thirst  be 
filled. 

"Behold  sweet  lips  that  twitch  with  crying  and  with  pain  ! 

They  strain  to  cry  so  loud  Tartarus  regions  hear : 
'Eurydice!'  and  lo,  blest  face  of  peace!     Again 

They  move.    Embrace  her !    Gleams  thine  eyelid  with 
love's  tear. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

"I  give  thee  up,  dear  face!     Let  Muses  bury  thee; 

And  there,  when  shade  with  shade  ye  wander  through 

Love's  vale, 
I  seek  Libethra,  love,  and  what  deep  melody 

Throbs  in  that  twilight  for  me  in  the  nightingale." 


57 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


THE  POET  AND  THE  SOLDIER. 

A  POET'S  pipe  lay  lost  within  the  wood, 
And  dryads  came  and  played  about  its  mouth  ; 
Enamored  breezes  from  the  fragrant  South 
Wooed  dulcet  measures  ;  then  the  dryads  stood 
To  hear  new  music  pour  its  gracious  wine 
Beneath  a  bower  of  rose  and  eglantine. 

A  hero's  sword  lay  gleaming  on  cold  ground  ; 

Dry  drops  of  blood  were  brown  on  edge  and   sheath  ; 

And  near  the  blade  a  ruined  laurel-wreath 

Lay  rotting  on  a  moss-grown  burial-mound. 

Beside  them,  robed  in  garments  for  the  tomb, 

Sat  a  lone  maiden  with  a  passion-bloom. 

When  vuld  and  brazen  throats  of  righteous  war 
Shivered  the  morning  stillness  with  their  cry, 
And  where  the  Right  paused  tremblingly  to  die 
58 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

At  her  last  stand,  a  poet  from  afar 

Filled  the  lost  pipe  with  music;  then  a  youth, 

Laureled  and  brave,  waved  the  bare  sword  of  Truth. 

O  poet-soldiers,  ye  who  sing  and  fight! 
Nor  pipe  nor  sword  was  ever  lost  in  vain. 
New  armies  form.     Retreating  o'er  Time's  plain, 
Beside  your  graves  they  stand  at  last  for  Right ; 
And  none  may  say  if  poet's  pipe,  or  sword, 
Win  the  best  triumphs  grateful  years  record. 


59 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND   DAY 


"THE   SUN  SHALL   BE  NO   MORE  THY  LIGHT 

BY  DAY;   NEITHER   FOR   BRIGHTNESS 

SHALL  THE   MOON  GIVE  LIGHT 

UNTO  THEE." 

I. 

I  LOOKED,  and  lo,    beneath  the  verdured  lea 
The  Day-god  dropped  his  sandal  in  the  sea  ; 
And  plashing  in  the  crimson  splendor,  I  forgot 
The  less  enchanting  duty  of  my  humble  lot. 
Then,  bending  oar  with  oar,  as  on  the  hills  his  feet 
Shone  like  fine  gold  in  flames  of  furnace-heat, 
I  moved  my  shallop  till  it  touched  the  sedgy  shore, 
Where,  having  done  my  duty,  I  could  do  no  more. 

II. 

O  God !   and  hast  Thou  heavens  for  my  soul 
Higher  and  deeper  far,  more  stars  in  sweet  control 
Than  ever  shone  along  that  path  he  trod, 
Till,  westering  down,  the  doomed  and  vanished  god 

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SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

Rose  on  another  realm  and  made  its  ample  dawn  ? 

If  these  be  mine,  though  sun  and  day  withdrawn 

Make  mine  eye  sadder,  yet  I  bid  Thee  take 

All  my  old  sky  ;    so,  for  my  soul's  own  sake, 

Let  me  be  sure  of  seeing  God,  when  no  more  shine 

Or  sun  or  moon  within  that  changeless  universe  of  Thine. 


61 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


SIR    PHILIP    SYDNEY. 

I. 

THIS  was,  in  sooth,  the  one  whom  poets  sing  — 
The  tempered  steel  within  a  velvet  sheath, 
The  marble  soul,  so  warm,  a  budding  wreath 

Grew  on  his  brow  and  lived  there  blossoming, 

Hero  and  bard,  the  eagle's  heart,  with  wing 
Lustrous  and  soft,  that  on  some  clouded  heath 
A  dove  might  hide,  till,  flying  underneath 

The  noon,  each  spot  became  a  sapphire 


O  Gentleman,  whose  dower  of  purest  strength, 
Like  morning-mist  that  made  an  old  world  new, 

Awaited  noons  to  make  it  seem  more  fair  — 
Men  bring  to  thee  fond  dreams  of  man.    At  length 
In  thee  their  trembling  colors  chorded  true, 
Stay  —  a  loved  treasure  in  our  common  air. 
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SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


II. 


The  age  God  made  to  make  a  gentleman 
Foretold  him  rich  in  texture,  heart  and  brain. 
It  winnowed  eras  in  whose  throes  of  pain 

There  pulsed  a  flower  whose  ardent  lips  began 

To  gather  gold  in  Nature's  primal  plan. 
Within  this  lover's  rhythmic  heart  and  vein 
Moved  the  fresh  youth  of  chivalry  unslain 

When  God  gave  Sydney  to  His  knightly  van. 

O  large-souled  age,  with  Shakespeare  as  thy  child, 
Bacon  thy  nurseling,  Spenser's  lyre  full-strung, 

Raleigh  thy  courtier,  plague  of  popes  undone; 
In  thee  Time's  heart,  with  straying  chords  beguiled, 
Broke  into  music  with  a  song  unsung  — 
Then  Sydney  lived— true  knighthood's  bard  and  son. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 


III. 


Defender  of  sweet  poesy !     Tis  thou 
Art  poesy's  most  fair  defence.    An  heart 
Like  thine  is  lyric  and  a  tuneful  part 

Of  that  full  lyric  God  hath  sung  till  now. 

Thy  spirit's  breath  is  epic  when  the  slough 
Buries  our  chariot-wheels,  or  when  a  dart, 
More  poison-dipped  than  selfish  care,  may  start 

A  league  of  doubts  before  whose  scorn  we  bow. 

That  cup  of  water  hath  its  fountains  bright; 
And  lips  of  bards,  athirst  with  heat  and  pain, 

Have  found  Parnassian  dew-falls  in  that  hour 
When  Zutphen's  battle-field  was  swathed  in  light. 
Whate'er  may  cease,  here  sounds  one  life's  refrain 
The  noblest  is  the  noblest  in  his  power. 


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SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


EARLY    MORNING    AT    PLYMOUTH. 

THROUGH  grey  mist  tangled  'midst  the  wooded  hills, 
A  brown-winged  warbler,  flying  as  he  sings, 

Stops  o'er  his  grassy  nest  awhile,  then  fills 
The  salty  air  with  sweetness,  while  he  brings 
Remembrances  of  vanished  men  and  things. 

I  wait  to  hear  him  fill  the  silent  vale, 
And  know  a  soul  has  come  again  to  earth. 

Listen !     Within  his  cell-like  notes  a  tale 
Of  sorrow!     Tis  a  Pilgrim's  second  birth; 
Old  anguish  makes  full  concord  with  his  mirth. 

Here  where  his  heart  pours  ecstasies  of  song, 

Two  centuries  ago,  he  loved  and  died ; 
Wandered  with  her  the  ocean-shore  along, 
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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

And  watched  with  her  the  starlit  ebbing  tide. 
Those  lover-forms  lie  sleeping  side  by  side. 

Here  now  he  comes  with  her  to  nest  again 
And  rear  their  birdlings  near  the  self-same   shore  — 

To  know  Love's  joy  of  joys  and  heart  of  pain. 
Lovers  immortal,  having  loved  before, 
Somewhere  this  love  shall  nest  forever  more. 


66 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


POETRY   AND    MUSIC. 

SHELLEY   AND    SCHUBERT. 

MAN'S  soul  itself  with  songs  of  sky  entrancing 
Makes  life  a  lyric  field,  bright  dews  enhancing, 
Where  lily-sounds  in  wild  enchantment  growing 
Throng  close,  like  stars,  on  vaulted  darkness  blowing. 

ROSSETTI   AND    CHOPIN. 

Far  murmuring  seas  upon  the  white  sand  glistened. 
Two  full-toned  souls  for  faint  woe-accents  listened. 
When  eddied  passion's  pains  to  calm  were  sinking, 
These  seized  the  concords,  mate  to  mate  re-linking. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

BROWNING   AND    WAGNER. 

Thunders  and  whispers  sway  the  jubilation  ; 

Crashes  of  pains  long  past  and  joys  from  earth  sweep 

near; 

Then  sobs  and  wails  in  rhythmic  modulation 
Breathe  radiant,  surgent  song  within  a  tear. 

SHAKESPEARE  AND  BEETHOVEN. 

What  God  wrote  deepest  in  the  soul  is  spoken. 
Fair  vase  of  tears  and  loves  they  brought  unbroken; 
Found  every  thread  of  secret  joy  or  grieving; 
Wrought  out  the  dream,  immortal  mazes  weaving. 


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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


THE    PURITAN. 

GOD  grew  aweary  of  the  rich  low  land 
That  kissed  the  rivulets  in  banks  of  bloom. 

God  said:    "I'll  make  me  peaks  of  crystal,  grand; 
And  these  with  morning's  glory  I'll  illume." 

God  saw  the  splendors  of  the  meadows  glow, 
And  granted  sun  and  rain  to  verdant  meads. 

God  said:    "Though  cold  and  solemn,  builded  so, 
My  rock-built  heights  be  high  as  human  needs." 

God  loved  the  gay,  responsive  souls  who  please, 
And,  clothed  in  blossoms,  scent  the  growing  day. 

God  said:    "I'll  make  me  sterner  minds,  and  these 
With  shadow  mark  the  sun's  path  on  his  way." 


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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND   DAY 

And  lo,  amidst  the  beauty  and  the  calm 
Of  compromise,  in  long,  compliant  years, 

Rose  up  the  Puritan  with  sword  and  psalm  — 
A  stainless  height,  unclouded,  without  fears. 

Afar  the  long  gold  sunstreak  came  and  stayed 

Upon  this  summit  like  a  crown  of  fire, 
Filled  all  the  gorges  with  the  light  that  played 

With  holy  rapture  of  divine  desire. 

Deep  were  the  seams  that  witnessed  how  he  came, 
But  fruitful  all  the  landscape  at  his  feet ; 

And  always,  snowlike,  innocent  of  blame, 

His  whiteness  bore  a  rose-dream,  world-wide,  sweet. 

And  when  God  looks  to  earth  for  valiant  minds, 
He  rests  His  eye-glance  on  these  solemn  heights. 

Here  sleep  the  secrets  of  the  stormful  winds; 
Here  stay  and  radiate  immortal  lights. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


LOST  IDEALS. 

SOMEWHERE  within  the  treasurehouse  of  God, 
Where  precious  gems  with  primal  glory  shine 

Walk  to  and  fro,  as  o'er  the  earth  they  trod, 
Our  lost  ideals,  radiant,  divine. 

I  see  them  toying  there  with  pearls  and  tears 
Once  lost  within  the  vacant  world  of  Time. 

I  see  them  bending  low  amidst  the  years 
To  hear  increase  of  music  in  earth's  chime. 

I  know  not  —  are  they  brighter,  dearer  there, 
Than  when  we  loved  them  first  in  happy  days 

When  morning  ran  to  evening  with  our  care 
And  o'er  the  earth  breathed  Springtime's  roundelays  ? 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Ah,  never  fairer  sight  is  given  to  men 

Than  sprang  completely  bright  before  mine  eyes, 
And  walked  before  me  in  the  twilight,  when 

The  door  stood  open  into  paradise. 

Sometimes  I  touched  her  with  a  finger-tip, 
And  knew  my  feet  went  one  by  one  with  her. 

Sometimes  I  straightened,  felt  her  rosy  lip, 
Then  gladly  called  myself  her  worshipper. 

My  soul,  make  answer !      didst  thou  look  away. 
Or  fall  bewildered  in  her  light  sublime  ? 

I  only  know  I  lost  her.     One  sad  day 
Vanished  mine  angel  on  the  hills  of  Time. 

No  tempest  blowing  o'er  the  rocky  height 
Disturbed  the  lustre  flowing  to  her  feet; 

'Mid  Life's  commotion,  in  her  calm  delight, 
That  loved  ideal  walked  the  heavenly  street. 


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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

In  God's  own  realm,  all  beautiful  they  wait 
To  make  us  welcome ;  joy  is  in  their  eyes. 

Our  lost  ideals  tend  the  heavenly  gate 
And  guide  their  lovers  into  paradise. 


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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


THE  CENTENARY  OF  JOHN  KEATS, 

OCTOBER  29, 

1795-1895- 

WHAT  golden  wine  is  this  poured  sparkling  forth 
Within  an  hundred  over-brimming  cups, 
Gift  from  a  sister-century  to  ours  — 
Rich  blood  of  grapes  that  purpled  in  full  day 
This  side  that  fancied  wall  upbuilt  by  man 
Whose  thought  alone  divides  the  realm  of  Time  ? 
These  mellow  draughts  stirred  sweet  in  tingling  roots 
Feeling  their  way  'neath  fragrant  leafy  mould 
That  made  a  bower  in  Cowper's  arid  day. 
Ours  were  the  wide-leaved  tendrils  when  the  tide 
Of  vernal  sap  rose  high  and  overflowed 
In  spray  of  whitest  bloom ;  the  vintage  ours 
As  sunset  splendor  loiters  on  wan  leaves 
Beneath  whose  shade  in  latest  Autumn  time 
Our  century  grown  old  sits  with  her  past, 
Bereft  of  Browning  and  of  Tennyson, 
Sipping  rare  nectar  from  her  hundred  years. 
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SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

An  hundred  years  of  Keats!  —  is  this  thy  gift? 
Nay,  bard  and  priest  at  Beauty's  shrine,  'tis  more 
Than  one  song-loving  century  may  bear 
Away.    At  this  glad  instant,  when  there  break 
Upon  thy  singing  countless  unnamed  dawns, 
Each  hour  of  long  millenniums  crowds  near 
To  beg  of  thee  anointment  and  this  boon — 
That,  in  her  songful  hours,  may  reign  that  mood 
In  which  thou  sawest  mysteries  unclasped 
To  thee  whose  spirit  yearned  for  Beauty's  lore. 

The  poets  come  —  new  minstrels  whose  song-threads 
Must  fail  to  weave  themselves  in  rhythmic  dreams, 
Till  bards  may  know  that  Truth  is  Beauty's  self 
Disguised  and  taciturn,  that  men  may  love 
Her  sovereignty  alone.    Then  shalt  thou  reign, 
And  once  again  shalt  be  the  voice  elect 
Of  that  celestial  spirit  Beauty  hath  ; 
And,  in  high  noons  of  thought,  thou  who  art  called 
The  Mage  of  Beauty  shalt  be  known  as  Sage 
Of  Truth,  and  all  most  affluent  melodies 

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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Will  sink  to  rise  within  that  harmony 
Where  Truth  and  Beauty  evermore  are  one 
According  strict  within  thy  lucent  rhyme. 

Not  thine  the  shield  of  Middle-Age  Romance 
Agleam  upon  thy  father  Spenser's  breast; 
Nor  thine  the  organ-pipes  whose  wave-like  strains 
Swept  down  from  heaven  and  triumphed  over  hell 
When  Milton's  soul,  in  Cromwell's  time,  was  song. 
Still  less  thine  eyes  found  paths  o'er  fiery  marl 
O'erpaced  by  that  imperial  Florentine 
Whose  feet  with  Beatrice's  found  God's  throne. 
Not  thine  was  Goethe  s  world-wide,  human  glance 
That  lit  the  secret  mazes  in  man's  brain ; 
Nor  thine  an  Argive  Helen's  tale  to  tell 
Accordant  with  a  race's  dream  or  doom. 
These  are  of  song's  true  masters;  only  less 
Are  they  than  Shakespeare  —  universal  bard. 
Yet,  midst  their  winnowed  chords,  thy  note  sounds  clear; 
And  as  o'er  leagues  of  time  their  accents  float, 
Each  singer  surer  of  the  ampler  theme. 
Thy  honeyed  reed  outpours  its  amber  tones 
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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

In  sweet,  delicious  lyric  o'er  lush  vales. 

What  time  on  mountain-summits  these  aspire, 

Thou  fillest  old  Earth's  self  with  melody  — 

Old  Earth  our  home,  old  Earth  that  is  our  grave. 

Thou  wingest  even  o'er  her  pain  and  strife 

And  makest  sanctuary  of  her  groves. 

O'er  her  scarred  bosom  zephyrs  breathest  thou, 

And  from  her  woe  there  lifts  the  incense-cloud. 

Let  others  tread  the  sphery  provinces  — 

Thy  spirit  heareth  here,  'midst  dewy  grass, 

Such  unwrit  canticles  as  on  white  peaks 

Grow  mute  midst  loftiness  and  faint  for  breath. 

Thou  livest  here.    'Tis  well,  when  silence  reigns 

On  starlit  solitudes  where  genius  lived, 

That  thou  o'er  earth's  wide  glades  shouldst  carol  still 

Of  Beauty's  new  and  immemorial  birth. 

In  twilight  hours,  when  other  throats  are  dumb, 

Breaks  forth  the  song-stream  of  thy  nightingale. 

Thy  brother  Shelley's  is  the  skylark's  blithe 
And  soaring  note ;  the  nightingale's  is  thine ; 
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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Whose  plaintive  rapture  hides  in  mantling  hours. 

His  were  the  stainless  lips  of  gladsome  morn 

That,  tremulous  with  prophecy  of  noon, 

Grew  vocal,  and  the  radiant  day  was  song. 

Thy  note,  more  dulcet,  found  half-chorded  eve 

Awaiting  thee,  and  where,  o'er  Hampstead  lawns, 

The  musing  twilight  weaves  a  tapestry 

From  noon  and  midnight,  in  thine  age-long  spring, 

Thy  spell  divine  the  theme  of  Beauty  wrought. 

His  was  the  cloud-wraith  fringed  with  shining  threads 

His  hand  alone  might  snatch  from  skies  inane  ; 

His  were  exultant  winds  of  melody 

On  lightsome  lyre-strings  hung  in  murky  pines; 

And  man  found  skyey  ways  to  tread  with  him 

Above  the  many-languaged  boughs  that  moaned 

While  Asia's  ardor  crimsoned  snowy  hills. 

Thine  was  the  lay  of  autumn,  though  thy  spring 
Scarce  greeted  May  with  perfect  kiss  of  rose  — 
Autumn,  whose  heart  with  summer's  throb  of  fire 
In  wiser  mood  goes  hasting  toward  a  seed  — 
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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

The  pensive  hour  of  swift  transmigrant  time 
Enflowered  and  golden-leaved,  fruitage  of  June 
Made  riper  in  reluctant  love  with  frost  — 
The  hour  when  life  with  birth  is  satisfied. 

So,  through  thy  consonant  and  o'er-ripe  lines, 

Mysterious  winds  besiege  the  tufted  flowers 

And  bear  them  where,  white-sepulchred  in  snows, 

Blossom  and  verdure  have  blest  burial. 

His  was  the  glory  of  Parnassus'  mount ; 

Thine  were  the  Hybla-haunts  of  hoarding  bees  ; 

His  was  the  spear  aflash  with  earthly  dawn, 

And  thine  the  graven  shield  of  primal  noon. 

Thy  youth  found  altars  where  Greek  marbles  gleamed, 

And,  'midst  incessant  London-fog  and  roar, 

The  secret  of  their  fashioning  was  given 

To  eyes  that  Athens  mastered  with  her  calm. 

I  see  thee  standing  near  the  splendid  theft 

Torn  from  the  Parthenon  and  held  for  thee  — 

Thou  son  of  want  whose  speech  was  minted  gold. 

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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

O,  what  an  hour  was  this  for  Art's  emprise, 

When  visions  amorous  of  perfect  form 

Married  Hellenic  beauty  to  thy  strain  ! 

Thou  hadst  no  knowledge  of  what  sorrow  comes 

To  days  whose  lights  emotionless  transform 

Themselves  to  chambered  systems  hard  as  gems ; 

And  men  miscall  them  seeds  when  vernal  skies, 

Close-bending,  ask  for  gifts  to  upturned  loam 

Of  thought.    Our  haughty  pride  goes  forth  to  sow. 

We  plant  the  furrowed  soil  with  jewels  dead 

And  irresponsive  unto  rain  of  tears 

Or  springtide  sun.     O,  for  one  pagan  more 

So  innocent  as  thou  of  questioning, 

On  whose  white  forehead,  as  on  thine,  are  carved 

No  telltale  wrinkles  where  life's  cheer  is  lost  — 

One  Grecian  youth  with  joy's  elastic  tread 

Whose  offering  is  living  seed  of  song. 

Thine  was  the  old  idyllic  trust  in  things 
That  smiled  with  Ceres  when  at  length  she  fared 
To  Attica,  and  if  thy  joy  was  less, 
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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

It  only  sighed  in  more  delicious  rhythm 
When  Ceres  sat  her  down  on  that  bare  rock 
Still  called  The  Stone  of  Sorrow,  or  what  time 
Persephone,  flower-laden  from  ripe  fields, 
O'erfilled  a  poet's  measure  from  her  store. 

We  visit  Greece  to  hear  a  sage  despair, 

Or  see  a  Socrates  drain  poison-cups — 

For  simple  joy  is  alien  to  our  world. 

Thou  saw'st  Demeter's  autumn-feast  outspread, 

And  o'er  fresh  boughs  and  deep-strewn  tamarisk, 

Thou  heardest  ripples  from  the  sacred  streams 

Up-flowing  where  shy  nymphs  concealed  in  caves. 

Without  our  science,  in  its  first  grey  hour, 
Thine  was  the  eye  whose  glance,  like  quickening  Spring, 
Opened  the  darksome  mystery  of  March, 
And  led  forth  Nature's  secret  virginal. 
Thou  didst  not  pause  to  learn  how  far  from  slime, 
Or  yet  how  near  to  Plato,  in  Life's  scale, 
Was  that  blue  blossom  Cythere*a  loved : 
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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Enough  to  thee  that  it  was  beautiful. 
Let  others  spurn  thy  musky  winding  paths 
And  note  how  dreaming  apes  had  hiding-place 
And  rioted  within  the  moss  and  sponge, 
Or  some  eye  keener  on  the  scent  of  him 
Track  Shakespeare's  genius  through  long-buried  realms 
Of  stone,  or  Chaucer's  numbers  'midst  the  ooze. 
Thine  was  the  wistful  eye  to  fathom  glooms 
Of  night,  and  in  thy  song,  to  woo  black  buds 
To  ope  their  hearts.    Dark  questions  came  apace, 
And  man,  with  aching  brow,  went  forth  for  Truth. 
Still  rose  above  the  strenuous  years  thy  hymn 
To  Beauty,  glad  with  praise  that  Beauty  is 
And  hath  her  own  pure  voicing.     Even  yet 
That  music  bides  o'er  inharmonious  times 
From  out  whose  night,  with  birth-notes  in  bright  morn, 
Fair-featured  days  uprise  whose  psalmists  lead 
The  wedded  twain  of  Truth  and  Beauty  on. 
Our  larger-brained  and  heart-exploring  bard 
Who  asked    of    earth :     "  What  porridge   had  John 
Keats?" 

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SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

— Browning,  the  sage  and  soul-discoverer 

For  us  who  lost  our  souls  within  man's  soul  — 

He  feared  not  music  might  forsake  man's  brain 

While  he  could  hear  thy  chord-compelling  rhythm, 

Or  see  thy  liquid  light  in  unvexed  streams 

Flow  softly  on  his  tortuous  ways.     His  song, 

Oft  stumbling  o'er  a  rough-edged  heap  of  gold, 

Confessed  thy  melody  and  caught  again 

A  mounting  cadence  from  thy  fervent  lips. 

And  he  whose  faultless  lyre  made  flawless  song 

Seem  easy  speech  to  lips  in  troublous  days  — 

He  whose  strings  felt  in  Wordsworth's  wonder-psalm 

The  tones  that  moved  his  lyre  to  utterance  — 

He  blent  thy  perfect  music  with  his  verse. 

Thy  golden  pollen  borne  on  charmed  winds 

Dropped  warm  within  white  petals  from  Grasmere, 

And  Tennyson's  full  blossom  oped  one  morn 

Of  modern  poesy  the  flower  supreme. 

Dappling  thy  pools  'midst  lilied  nooks  of  song, 
What  purity  of  light !     No  stained  morn 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Was  thine,  tossing  licentious  curtains  back 

Till  sultry  noon  lays  bare  love's  wasted  heart. 

Thine  was  the  light  whose  raptures  rise  to  noon 

On  Latinos'  mount  where  young  Endymion  slept. 

The  wind  that  brought  white  blossoms  in  her  mouth 

Roved  to  thy  lips  and  kissed  thee  unafraid, 

And,  when  she  roared  about  thee,  thou  didst  say: 

"She  is  my  wife;  my  children  are  bright  stars, 

Beauty  my  king,  and  epic  shapes  his  guards." 

So  pure  thy  spirit,  thou  didst  vanish  forth 

In  that  voluptuousness  of  rhythmic  air 

To  whose  song-murmuring  heart  thine  own  was  wed. 

Thine  was  at  once  the  fact  and  fantasy 

Of  loveliness.     Pure  beauty  dared  to  live 

And  walk  forthright,  her  vestal  bosom  bare, 

With  heart  unwon  since  blithe  Aegean  days 

Gave  to  her  Bion  and  Theocritus. 

Renascent  Spenser's  glorious  Attic  son, 

The  Phidian  chisel  calmed  thy  youthful  hand. 

Flowers  blew  upon  thy  path,  and  there  attained 

84 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

A  sculpturesque  and  lucent  marble  grace. 

Love's  lips,  that  for  an  hundred  years  have  drunk 

Their  fragrant  secret,  are  not  wiser  now 

Than  then;  still  seems  this  bloom  alive  and  fresh, 

As  though  they  were  not  Beauty's  chiseled  forms. 

Thou  wast  no  craftsman,  skilled  to  place  thy  phrase 

'Gainst  polished  phrase,  in  crystal-circlets  massed; 

Thy  passion  breathed  not  choice  mosaic-rhymes  — 

Thy  tuneful  heart  its  swift  revealment  made 

Of  that  deep  elemental  rune  which  sings 

Its  way  from  artist's  heart,  through  all  he  sees, 

To  art  itself  —  the  consummate  response. 

Thy  craft  was  sculpture-song  that,  Orpheus-like, 

Transformed  immobile  things  worked  on  by  thee 

To  wax  whose  texture  stirred  with  hum  of  bees 

O'er-burdened  still  with  wafts  of  clover-bloom, 

And  so  instinct  with  Beauty's  latent  theme, 

That  when  once  touched  by  thy  melodious  hand, 

Itself  became  immortal  for  thy  praise. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 


WAKING    DREAMS. 

BETWEEN  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes, 

Like  red  and  satin  poppy-leaves, 
Lie  soft  the  dreams  of  Paradise. 

They  linger  when  my  spirit  grieves; 
They  quench  the  fever  in  my  brain 
And  kiss  my  hopes  to  life  again  — 
Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes. 

Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes, 
Like  star-beams  melting  into  peace, 
Drift  on  the  visions  out  of  skies 

Wherein  eternal  years  increase. 
I  slip  the  sovereignty  of  earth, 
And  feel  the  light  of  second  birth  — 
Between  my  eyelids  and  mine  eyes. 

Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes, 
With  Love's  bright  mystery  and  grace, 
86 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

My  precious  friends  without  disguise, 

With  benedictions  on  each  face, 
Walk  slowly  'midst  the  tress  and  flowers, 
Or  sleep  within  the  garden-bowers  — 
Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes. 

Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes, 
A  wandering  spirit,  through  my  sleep, 

Comes  singing  where  the  daylight  dies; 
And  tuneful  founts  of  tears  aleap 

Begem  the  path  her  footsteps  trod. 

In  hers  my  dim-eyed  soul  saw  God — 

Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes. 

Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes, 

I  live  and  conquer,  see  and  know. 
O  let  my  spirit  in  this  wise 

Along  the  trackless  confines  go! 
No  other  universe  is  sweet 
As  this — forever  bright,  complete  — 
Between  mine  eyelids  and  mine  eyes. 

8? 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


CARE  AND  CARELESSNESS. 

I  CARE  not  that  the  storm  sways  all  the  trees 
And  floods  the  plain  and  blinds  my  trusting  sight; 

I  only  care  that  o'er  the  land  and  seas 
Comes  sometime  Love's  perpetual  peace  and  light. 

I  care  not  if  the  thunder-cloud  be  black, 
Till  that  last  instant  when  my  work  is  done; 

I  only  care  that  o'er  the  gloomy  rack 
Flames  forth  the  promise  of  a  constant  sun. 

I  care  not  that  sharp  thorns  grow  thick  below 
And  wound  my  hands  and  scar  my  anxious  feet ; 

I  only  care  to  know  God's  roses  grow, 
And  I  may  somewhere  find  their  odor  sweet. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

I  care  not  if  they  be  not  white,  but  red  — 
Red  as  the  blood-drops  from  a  wounded  heart; 

I  only  care  to  ease  my  aching  head 
With  faith  that  somewhere  God  hath  done  His  part. 

I  care  not  that  the  furnace-fire  of  pain 
Laps  round  and  round  my  life  and  burns  alway ; 

I  only  care  to  know  that  not  in  vain 
The  fierce  heats  touch  me  throughout  night  and  day. 

I  care  not  that  the  mass  of  molten  ore 
Trembles  and  bubbles  at  the  chilly  mold; 

I  only  care  that  daily,  more  and  more, 
There  comes  to  be  a  precious  thing  of  gold. 

I  care  not  if,  in  years  of  such  despair, 
I  reach  in  vain  and  seize  no  purpose  vast; 

I  only  care  that  I  sometime,  somewhere, 
May  find  a  meaning  shining  at  the  last. 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

I  care  not  if,  a  child  in  Life's  high  tower, 
I  grasp  in  vain  at  many  ropes  above; 

I  pray  to  catch  one  dangling  cord  — for  power 
To  ring  one  note  of  God's  unfailing  love. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


AT    SANTA   BARBARA. 

THE  long  green  leagues  of  open  sea 
Roll  shoreward  as  on  yesterday; 

The  old  lights  shine  on  wave  and  lea; 
I  hear  the  self  same  ocean-lay. 

God!  art  not  weary  of  Thy  voice 
Set  to  such  monochord  of  tides? 

Soul !    God  doth  challenge  thee  !     Rejoice ! 
Thou  hast  infinity  besides. 

With  every  mounting  wave  that  bears 

White  bloom  of  wide  sea-meadows  near, 

I  lose  my  dull  brown  shore  of  cares 

That  binds  my  thought  and  spirit  here. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Gathered  from  out  the  ocean-noon 

That  shines  afar  on  stormless  deep, 

Made  whiter  by  a  silver  moon 

That  plucked  them  in  their  budding  sleep, 

The  pure,  translucent  blossoms  come  — 
A  wealth  of  splendor  on  the  wave; 

They  bloom  above  my  fears — and  some 
Hide  my  unworthy  triumph's  grave. 

And  all  around  sounds  strange  and  free 
God's  deepest  music  heard  in  time  — 

The  choral  of  eternity, 

In  steady,  psalm-like,  prayerful  chime. 

This  His  divinest  gift  to  me, 

To  break  my  old  horizon-line, 
And  challenge  with  Infinity 

Whate'er  in  me  is  yet  divine. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


A  WORD    FOR    FAITH. 

THE  long-borne  fagots  'neath  my  hard  cold  will 
Lie  piled  in  order  —  yet  are  wet  with  rain. 

I  looked  to  Thee,  and  prayed  —  am  praying  still. 
Flame  of  God's  love,  wilt  thou  thy  fire  restrain? 

Ah,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  art  fled  away? 

Are  moon  and  starlight  come  to  tell  Thy  doom  ? 
Shall  these  transform,  and,  like  a  Milky  Way, 

Lie  like  a  dream  across  the  vacant  gloom  ? 

Still  I  believe  my  fagot-thoughts  are  shine  — 
Shine  of  the  sun,  packed  close  in  warp  and  woof ! 

While  I  am  man,  this  memory  divine 
Lives  in  my  doubt  and  of  the  sun  is  proof. 


93 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Sun,  thou  art  hid  elsewhere,  in  iron  and  flint, 
When  thou  hast  vanished  and  the  day  is  done. 

Strike  I  the  darknesses;  and  lo,  a  glint; 
O  kindling  fire!    O  relic  of  the  sun! 

So,  fired  at  last  by  love — old  love  so  new, 

My  work  shall  be  the  one  acknowledgment:  — 

O  God,  I  find  Thee,  doubt  and  darkness  through ; 
Earth  knows  no  instant  of  Thy  banishment. 


SONGS   OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


SEA  FOAM. 

ARE  they  bloom  of  white  on  flowering  waves 

For  marriage  of  land  and  sea, 
Or  white-lipped  hate  that  the  shore  enslaves 

And  fetters  what  would  be  free  ? 

Is  the  green  that  purples  afar  away 

The  change  of  a  love  grown  deep, 
Or  the  charm  of  Love's  declining  day, 

When  a  love-dream  fades  in  sleep  ? 

Are  the  white-winged  birds  that  fly  through  the  dawn 

Great  hopes  loving  sea  and  sky, 
Or  the  ghosts  of  hope  from  a  world  withdrawn, 

Not  knowing  whither  to  fly  ? 

O,  my  wondering  soul,  thyself  art  here 

In  song  and  sob  of  the  sea  ; 
The  ocean  I  see  through  smile  or  tear 

Is  my  portraiture  of  thee. 

95 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


CHRISTMAS,   1895. 

THE  bleak  winds  hush  their  wintry  cry 
And  murmur  softly  with  the  sigh 
Of  Mary  in  the  lowly  place 
Where  shines  the  Baby's  holy  face. 
Yet  everywhere  men  ask  this  morn : 
"O,  where  is  our  Redeemer  born  ? " 

The  winds  of  time  are  still  this  night; 
One  Star  is  guiding  calm  and  bright. 
My  soul,  hush  thou  and  follow  on 
Through  day  to  night,  through  night  to  dawn! 
Where  childhood  needs  thy  love,  this  morn, 
Lo,  there  is  thy  Redeemer  born  ! 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

So,  Jesus,  with  their  carolled  praise, 
Thou  comest  in  our  day  of  days. 
These  bring  Thee  to  our  earth  again; 
We  hear  once  more  the  angels'  strain. 
Blest  be  the  children  on  this  morn ; 
Behold  our  dear  Redeemer  born! 


97 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


A  SONG  OF  WIND  AND  RAIN. 

WIND  and  rain, 

Away  o'er  the  main, 

Banqueting  loudly  with  foam-lipped  death, 
And  kissing  swiftly  with  lightning  breath, 
Singing  amid  the  straining  shrouds, 
Playing  with  life  'neath  lowering  clouds; 
On  from  the  Southland  laden  with  bloom ; 
On  where  the  summertime  finds  a  tomb! 
For  wind  and  the  rain  hold  converse  together; 
And  wet  sails  gleam  in  the  freezing  weather. 

Wind  and  rain 

Away  o'er  the  plain 
Reveling  gaily  with  rapturous  life, 
And  bearing  along  in  your  wild,  swift  strife 

98 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Harvests  unreaped  in  the  seeds  you  fling, 

Autumns  of  bloom  in  the  breath  of  Spring. 

On,  through  the  shine  of  an  April  sun; 

On,  till  the  winnowing  work  is  done ; 

For  wind  and  the  rain  hold  converse  together, 

And  whisper  their  loves  in  the  stormy  weather. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


A  BOAT  SONG. 

SING  as  we  float  along ; 

Sing  as  the  tide  grows  strong ; 
And  far  to  the  wide,  wide,  billowy  realm, 
Borne  swift  and  sure  are  ship  and  helm. 
We  are  children  freed  in  infinity, 
When  we  sing  and  sail  far  out  to  sea, 

Till  the  day  is  done, 

And  the  red,  round  sun 
Sleeps  with  eve  in  the  rosy  seas. 

Sing  as  we  come  ashore ; 

Sing  when  the  swallows  soar ; 
And  close  to  the  fisherman's  hut  we  glide 
Borne  swift  and  sure  on  the  flooding  tide. 


100 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

We  are  weak  and  helpless,  but  nearing  home, 
Let  us  gather  flowers  from  the  land  and  foam, 

Till  the  day  is  done, 

And  the  red,  round  sun 
Sleeps  with  eve  in  the  rosy  seas. 


101 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


BISMARCK. 

FREDERICK'S  battalions,  on  whose  side  was  God, 
Charlemagne's  vast  vision  fadeless  in  the  sky, 
Luther's  bold  protest,  asking  Fate  to  try 

Stein's  dream  of  order  for  the  realms  untrod, 

In  one  supreme  full  sunburst  o'er  that  sod  — 
I  see  all  these  leave  blood,  and  then  ally 
The  steel  with  truth,  to  speak  through  one  calm  eye 

Their  mission  in  the  statesman's  empire-rod. 

"We  fear  no  one,"  he  said,  "but  God."      Such  fear 
Impels  the  German  heart  to  sovereign  cares 

And  makes  him  servant  unto  God  alone. 
"/  must!"  he  cries.    "/  will — let  me  not  hear!" 
And  so  while  that  one  calculates  nor  dares, 
Bismarck  beholds  and  constitutes  a  throne. 

102 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


SKY   AND    SEA. 

THE  Harvest  Moon  from  tinted  skies 
The  sundown  left  aglowing 

Within  the  ocean  purple  lies 
Where  silent  tides  are  flowing 

Afar  on  heights  the  dreamlike  clouds 

Attend  her  in  her  shining. 
The  sailor  here  against  the  shrouds 

Beholds  them  while  reclining. 

The  sky  is  but  an  upturned  sea, 
The  moon  a  ship  of  wonder — 

Fair  sign  of  that  eternity 
That  charms  our  souls  up  yonder. 

103 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

So  seems  the  sea  an  upturned  sky 

All  fathomless,  yet  nearer 
Than  moonlit  leagues  where  clouds  float  by 

The  upper  sea's  bright  mirror. 

Between  the  sea  and  sky  I  stand, 

The  Infinite  around  me  ; 
Round  both  is  God  ;  and  there's  the  land 

Let  not  my  dreams  confound  me. 


At  Sea,  September  gth, 


104 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 


THE    NAME    OF    GOD. 

I. 

ALONG  the  wasting  mere  of  Time  I  passed, 

Half-blind  with  introverted,  doubtful  eyes 

That  sudden  searched  majestic  routes  of  stars. 

My  sight  was  strained  —  one  instant's  space 

A  microscope  with  o'erlarge  glass ;  the  next 

A  telescope  too  small  of  lens.    Methought 

To  read  that  Name  above  all  names  men  speak. 

I  called  that  Power  enthroned  o'er  Time  and  space 

On  whose  strange  earth  mine  eyes  were  fading  —  FATE. 

Till  then  my  soul,  self-pitying,  had  no  woes, 
But  loved  her  fancied  martyrdoms  and  sighed. 


105 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

One  night  came  sorrow,  unannounced  and  calm, 
And  struck  within  mine  heart  a  place  of  tears 
That  welled  up  in  mine  eyes  and  bathed  my  si^ht. 
Long  days  I  looked  not  out  or  in,  but  kept 
My  doubtful  vision  in  their  soothing  flood. 


II. 

Then  Life  spake:    "Go,  and  look  well  to  thy  path." 

I  looked  and  I  beheld  not  anything 

So  blesse*d  in  my  way,  as  this:    1 saw ; 

And  hasting  on  to  duty  in  that  dawn, 

I  read  there  first  for  me  the  name  of  God. 

I  had  but  known  four  letters  of  His  name, 
F-A-T-E— of  these  the  last  misplaced, 
Till  in  that  hour's  white  light  I  found  the  whole 
Of  God,  with  sight  made  true  by  purging  tears. 
FATE  throbbed  with  heart  and  swelled  with  holy  love, 
Till  FATHER  spelled  Himself  upon  my  speech. 


106 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


INSOMNIA. 

So  SLOWLY  comes  the  morning  o'er  the  world, 
It  seemeth  somewhere  in  the  spirit's  dark, 
Where,  ghostlike,  flap  black  wings  of  night-born  doubt- 
ings — hark !  — 

Day's  banner  loosened  once  falls  closely  furled ; 
So  slowly  comes  the  morning  o'er  the  world. 

So  slowly  comes  the  morning  o'er  the  world, 

It  seemeth  somewhere  in  a  dreamlit  land, 

The  stream  of  Time  were  lost  amid  oblivious  sand ; 

And  where  the  ancient  silver  current  swirled 

Full  slowly  comes  the  morning  o'er  the  world. 

So  slowly  comes  the  morning  o'er  the  world, 
Till  now  a  white  hand  reaching  through  the  grey 
Sets  free  my  curtained  soul ;  and  jocund  dawn  of  day 
Smooths  with  bright-jeweled  feet  the  waves  upcurled  ; 
And  swiftly  comes  the  morning  o'er  the  world. 
107 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


LOVE  AND  IMMORTALITY. 

ALONE  Love  wandered  through  the  dew  and  flowers 
Along  a  mossy  bank  where  Lethe  flowed; 

And  crocus-meads,  'neath  trembling  myrtle-bowers, 
Lay  golden  where  the  wan  day's  brightness  glowed; 
And  Love  was  fair 

With  pink-white  feet  and  wavelike  yellow  hair. 

Love  sat  him  weaving  coronals  of  green 
Enflowered  with  myrtle,  sapphire-cups  of  bloom  ; 

And  beads  of  gold  enwrought  their  velvet  sheen 
Where  Love  himself  had  found  his  unveiled  tomb; 
And  Love  sang  sweet 

The  while  the  myrtle  blossoms  hid  his  feet. 


108 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

"I  weave,"  he  said,  "these  clinging  tendrils  fast 
To  crown  my  brow  when  Death  leads  on  his  fears. 

These  seeds  I  planted  blossom  from  my  past; 
This  mossy  bank  I  watered  with  my  tears." 
And  Love  was  sad 

The  while  the  singing  birds  of  May  seemed  glad. 

"Kisses  and  sighs  are  these.    My  chaplet-crown 
Lives  blossoming  and  beautiful  for  aye. 

I  leave  my  name  in  buds.    Soft  floating  down 
The  stream,  Love's  name  will  bloom  alway." 
And  Love  looked  far 

Beyond  the  light  of  morn  or  evening  star. 

What  time  Love  dreamed,   Death  slipped  within  the 

bower, 

Waved  once  his  sceptre  o'er  the  crocus-mead, 
Grasped  sudden,  missed   Love's  crown   of   green  and 

flower, 
Then  lordly  Love  uprose,  and,  giving  heed, 

His  hand  agleam, 

The  crown  threw  swift  across  the  slumbrous  stream. 
109 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

"Now  to  thy  task,  O  Death,"  Love  smiling  said, 

11 0  river  of  forgetfulness,  flow  fast!" 
A  dream  of  life  hung  o'er  Love's  golden  head. 

He  cried:    "O  Death,  thou  canst  not  kill  the  past!1 

But  Love  had  died, 
What  time  his  crown  bloomed  on  the  other  side. 

That  hour  upon  that  other  bank  there  reigned 

A  sceptered  angel  —  Immortality, 
By  all  his  unforgotten  yearning  trained  — 

Love's  other  self,  or  form,  flower-crowned  and  free, 

And  thus  alone 
Love,  fleeter-footed,  went  to  find  his  own. 


no 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


A    BALLAD    OF    SPAIN. 

I  HEARD  the  clash  of  steel  on  steel; 
I  saw  the  glittering  chariot  wheel 
Roll  'midst  a  cloud  of  dusty  gold. 
'Twas  on  a  day  in  times  of  old ; 

In  Castilla  — 

Blest  Castilla! 

I  knew  his  face,  dark-skinned  and  fine, 
A  rajah's  boast  of  peerless  line. 
From  out  of  Islam,  flaming  came 
This  Orient  torch,  to  light  the  shame 

Of  Castilla— 

Fair  Castilla! 


in 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

A  fleeter  steed  than  mine  he  rode, 
Pricked  to  his  speed  with  shining  goad. 
But  then  my  loved  one,  passing  by, 
Had  caught  the  prince's  evil  eye, 

In  Castilla— 

Sweet  Castilla ! 

Steel  flashed  at  mine,  and  tears  fell  fast; 
What  time  the  Moslem  warrior  passed. 
'Come,  come  with  me,  his  slave!"  she  cried; 
And  I  rode  silent  at  his  side 

From  Castilla — 

Loved  Castilla! 

And  now  I  see  her  long,  bright  arms 
Bedecked  with  Orient  jewel-charms. 
I  teach  her  ankle-bells  their  chime, 
And  love  her  in  this  far-off  clime — 

From  Castilla  — 

Dear  Castilla! 


112 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

This  day  the  vina-strings  will  sound 
In  vain;  the  prince  will  search  around  — 
And  through  his  tears  the  deep-blue  haze 
Will  glimmer,  when  his  eyes  shall  gaze 

Toward  Castilla— 

Her  Castilla! 

And  now  two  milk-white  steeds  await 
The  lifting  of  the  palace-gate. 
'Tis  done!     Die,  prince!     Without  reply, 
We  speed  beneath  the  starlit  sky 

Toward  Castilla— 

Our  Castilla! 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


THE  PERPETUAL  WOOING. 

THE  dull  world  clamors  at  my  feet 
And  asks  my  hand  and  helping,  sweet; 
And  wonders  when  the  time  shall  be 
I'll  leave  off  dreaming  dreams  of  thee. 
It  blames  me  coining  soul  and  time 
And  sending  minted  bits  of  rhyme — 
A-wooing  of  thee  still. 

Shall  I  make  answer?     This  it  is: 
I  camp  beneath  thy  galaxies 
Of  starry  thoughts  and  shining  deeds ; 
And,  seeing  new  ones,  I  must  needs 
Arouse  my  speech  to  tell  thee,  dear, 
Though  thou  art  dearer,  I  am  near  — 
A-wooing  of  thee  still. 
114 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

I  feel  thy  heart-beat  next  mine  own; 
Its  music  hath  a  richer  tone. 
I  rediscover  in  thine  eyes 
A  balmier,  dewier  paradise. 
I'm  sure  thou  art  a  rarer  girl  — 
And  so  I  seek  thee,  finest  pearl  — 
A-wooing  of  thee  still. 

With  blood  of  roses  on  thy  lips — 
Canst  doubt  my  trembling? — something  slips 
Between  thy  loveliness  and  me 
So  commonplace,  so  fond  of  thee. 
Ah,  sweet,  a  kiss  is  waiting  where 
That  last  one  stopped  thy  lover's  prayer — 
A-wooing  of  thee  still. 

When  new  light  falls  upon  thy  face, 
My  gladdened  soul  discerns  some  trace 
Of  God,  or  angel,  never  seen 
In  other  days  of  shade  and  sheen. 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Ne'er  may  such  rapture  die,  or  less 
Than  joy  like  this  my  heart  confess  — 
A-wooing  of  thee  still. 

Go,  thou,  O  soul  of  beauty,  go, 
Fleet-footed  toward  the  heavens  aglow. 
Mayhap,  in  following,  thou  shall  see 
Me  worthier  of  thy  love  and  thee. 
Thou  wouldst  not  have  me  satisfied 
Until  thou  lov'st  me  —  none  beside  — 
A-wooing  of  thee  still. 

This  was  a  song  of  years  ago  — 
Of  Spring.     Now  drifting  flowers  of  snow 
Bloom  on  the  window-sills,  as  white 
As  greybeard  looking  through  Love's  light 
And  holding  blue-veined  hands,  the  while 
He  finds  her  last  the  sweetest  smile  — 
A-wooing  of  her  still. 


1 16 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


BETWEEN  SUMMER  AND  WINTER. 

I. 

RED  Autumn  kindles  on  the  vine ; 
The  o'erripe  grapes  are  swoll'n  with  wine; 
September  wails  across  the  bay, 
And,  when  the  summer-scented  day 
Runs  swiftly  toward  the  sunlit  South, 
I  see  the  red  upon  her  mouth. 
The  berries  linger  on  her  lips 
And  crimson  on  her  finger-tips. 
Ah,  fare  thee  well ! 

II. 

Come,  kissing  meadows  with  thy  frost. 
The  firelight  is  thy  Pentecost. 
The  Summer  leaves  the  table  spread  ; 
Come,  Winter  cold,  snow-filleted, 

117 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

And  banquet  on  the  branch  and  vine. 
White  priestess,  pour  the  fruity  wine. 
The  future  feeds  forever  more 
Upon  the  Past's  immortal  store ; 
So,  fare  thee  well ! 


118 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


WHEN    THE    POET    COMES. 

THE  ferny  places  gleam  at  morn; 
The  dew  drips  off  the  leaves  of  corn; 
Along  the  brook  a  mist  of  white 
Fades  as  a  kiss  on  lips  of  light. 
For,  lo!  the  poet  with  his  pipe 
Finds  all  these  melodies  are  ripe. 

Far  up  within  descanting  June, 
Floats  silver-winged  a  living  tune; 
Winding  within  the  morning's  chime 
That  sets  the  earth  and  sky  to  rhyme ; 
For,  lo!  the  poet,  absent  long, 
Breathes  the  first  raptures  of  his  song. 

119 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Across  the  clover-blossoms  wet, 
With  dainty  clumps  of  violet 
And  wild  red  roses  in  her  hair, 
There  comes  a  little  maiden  fair. 
He  can  not  more  of  June  rehearse; 
She  is  the  ending  of  his  verse. 

He  waits,  and,  through  perpetual  days 
Of  summer-gold  and  filmy  haze  — 
When  Autumn  dies  in  Winter's  sleet, 
He  watches  still  those  dew-washed  feet; 
And  o'er  the  tracts  of  Life  and  Time 
They  make  the  cadence  for  his  rhyme. 


120 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


THE  COMING  PARADISE. 

I  SAW  her  'mid  the  long  green  stalks 

Of  silky  corn  in  summertime. 
I  saw  her  'midst  red  hollyhocks, 

And  watched  the  sunlit  pantomime. 
For  lovelier  brown  was  in  her  hair, 

And  silkier  brown  fell  o'er  her  eyes; 
And  fairer  than  her  garden  fair, 

I  saw  a  coming  paradise. 

I  breathed  with  her  the  heavy  musk 
.  Afloat  upon  the  eventide, 
And  ran  behind  her  in  the  dusk 
And  dreamed  I  walked  close  by  her  side. 


121 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Somehow  the  perfume  stole  my  breath ; 

Somehow  the  moonbeams  quenched  my  sighs; 
For  there  I  kissed  the  lips  of  Death  — 

Yet  lived  with  her  in  paradise. 

Next  morn  I  found  her  where  lush  grass 

Lived  specked  with  lilies  white  and  large. 
Ah,  solemn  clouds  that  pause  and  pass 

Afar  from  sea-green  marge  to  marge, 
Beneath  your  path  I  strain  to  see 

That  one  sweet  face  of  all  most  wise. 
Across  a  dark  infinity 

Glows  evermore  that  paradise. 

At  night  the  glow-worm  held  his  lamp 

Against  her  forehead  pure  and  white; 
And  down  the  green  sward  cool  and  damp 

She  wandered,  minstrel  of  the  night. 
I  hear  her  often,  when  I  tread 

The  soft  turf  where  they  say  she  lies. 
They  count  her  name  among  the  dead; 

Then  flames  my  surer  paradise. 

122 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

If,  in  the  realm  of  amethyst, 

O'er  plains  where  buds  are  blossoming, 
Are  clouds  of  gold  or  purple  mist — 

I'll  find  her,  in  some  eve  of  Spring  — 
Her  lilied  limbs  asleep  amid 

The  glory  where  some  angel  flies 
And  stops,  where  softly  she  has  hid 

My  childhood's  dream  of  paradise. 

So,  near  her  grave  are  hollyhocks, 

Red  like  her  lips;  and  there  along 
The  brooklet  grow  the  tasselled  stalks, 

And  thither  floats  the  robin's  song. 
That  far-off  perfume  haunts  the  air; 

Wan  moonbeams  overfill  mine  eyes; 
I  dream,  and  fondle  with  her  hair, 

And  live  again  in  paradise. 


123 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 


ARCADY. 

BE  NOT  hesitant  with  me, 

For  I  go  to  Arcady. 

Winter  is  stern  monarch  here, 

And  without  the  window  there, 
Scornful  of  the  leafless  year, 

Breathes  his  frosts  upon  the  air. 
Now  from  all  the  hapless  trees 
Every  frisky  dryad  flees. 
Be  not  hesitant  with  me  — 
Let  us  go  to  Arcady! 

Be  not  hesitant  with  me  — 
Come,  and  go  to  Arcady ! 
We  have  drunk  the  Summer's  wine 
Every  yellow  drop  is  gone  — 
124 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

Plucked  the  last  grape  from  the  vine. 

Yonder  woodlands  hide  the  fawn, 
Where,  beneath  the  young  moon's  glance, 
Lithesome  dryads  throng  and  dance. 
Be  not  hesitant  with  me! 
To  the  woods  of  Arcady! 


125 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


ONE  NIGHT  AFTERWARD. 

THE  earth  tonight  with  Spring  is  sweet; 
And  once-loved  flowers  blow  near  my  feet, 
Because  with  mine  thy  footsteps  fleet 
Still  tread  with  me  this  maze  of  time. 

Mine  eyes,  so  used  to  see  thine  own, 
Gaze  upward  toward  the  burning  throne 
Where  thou  art  blessed  ;  here  alone 
I'm  wending  through  this  maze  of  time. 

Mine  ears  were  used  to  hear  thee  say 

What  visions  came  on  yesterday; 

And  here  I  wait  thee,  while  I  pray. 

What  hast  thou  found  and  known  in  heaven  ? 


126 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

How  did  the  heavenly  gate  unbar? 
Didst  rest  thy  wings  on  what  white  star? 
Or  art  thou  near  me,  or  afar  — 
Since  thou  hast  found  and  entered  heaven? 

How  fare  the  throned  and  happy  dead  ? 
By  what  dear  angel  wast  thou  led? 
Hast  thou  my  spirit's  record  read, 
And  lov'st  thou  me  as  I  love  thee? 

Thou  knewest  doubt — didst  sow  in  pain. 
Do  I  sow  chaff  or  golden  grain? 
O,  once,  as  then,  speak  thou  again ; 
Thou  lovedst  once,  as  I  love  thee. 

How  didst  thou  thirst  for  living  streams!  — 
And  thou  didst  find  their  shadowed  gleams 
E'en  here.    May  I  believe  the  beams 
That  fall  and  glimmer  toward  the  sea? 


127 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Is  perfect  sunrise,  as  we  thought, 
From  out  of  flickering  twilights  wrought  ? 
Didst  find  the  noontide  where  we  sought  — 
The  full,  pure  glory  o'er  the  sea  ? 

Are  seeds  that  ache  here  blossom-crowned  ? 
Does  every  broken  circle  round  ? 
Is  justice  true  ?     Is  lost  faith  found 
Where  thou  hast  been  with  God  today? 

Strike  some  tense  string  that  He  may  bless! 
Ask  some  strong  angel  to  confess, 
And  let  me  hear  the  answer  "  Yes/" 
From  heaven  where  thou  hast  been  all  day. 


128 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 


TWO  TRANSMIGRATIONS. 

I. 

FOUR  centuries  before  Rome's  eagles  flew 
Above  the  blood-red  crest  of  Calvary, 
There  hung  above  the  seven  white-crowned  hills 
The  destined  triumph  barbarous  Gauls  had  grasped 
At  Allia's  encrimsoned  stream,  now  bright 
And  flowing  calm  'neath  skies  of  sunset-fire. 
The  Tiber  theirs;  Porta  Collina  near; 
'Twixt  Palatine  and  Aventine  they  saw 
The  fleeing  soldiers  leave  their  city  doomed 
And  hide  themselves  within  the  capitol. 
Then  undefended  Rome  went  forth.    The  hills 
Stood  crowned  with  fading  light  of  hope  what  time 
The  Flamen  Quirinalis  hid  the  jars 
Within  Boarium;  and  white-lipped  men 
129 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

And  women  swayed  the  arched  Sublician  bridge. 
Afar  Janiculum  lit  up  the  gloom  — 
A  torch  of  flame  above  a  shadowed  vale. 
Pale,  in  that  bright  red  hour  of  fear,  swept  on 
Toward  refuge  vestal  virgins  in  white  robes 
Soft-tinted  in  the  dusky  crimson  glow, 
When  lo!    Albinus  hastened  near,  his  steed 
And  cart  o'er-burdened ;  wife  and  children  piled 
With  coarse  plebeian  wares  above  the  wheels. 
His  hour  —  the  hour  that  linked  a  mortal  man 
With  gods  enthroned  and  Rome,  o'erpassing  love 
Of  woman  or  sweet  child  —  the  hour  of  faith 
Had  come. 

The  Roman  spake  but  once,  with  voice 
Ne'er  sweet  to  woman's  heart,  ne'er  filled  with  love 
Of  child  — the  hour  four  hundred  years  too  soon 
For  childhood's  vision  in  Madonna's  arms, 
Or  mother's  rapture  in  the  Virgin's  face  ; 
And  soon  the  axle  bore  instead,  a  freight 
Of  vestal  virgins  o'er  the  crowded  road. 


130 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Fairer  than  sunset — only  sunset  days 
Within  her  heart — a  grey-haired  vestal  stayed  — 
Vestalis  Maxima  —  and  thus  she  spoke: 
"Nay!    I  will  perish  here  —  be  slaughtered  first 
With  these  defenceless;  spurn  a  safety  torn 
From  helpless  children  and  a  mother  doomed ! " 

Finding  a  shelter  for  her  new-made  care, 

She  looked  again  toward  undefended  Rome, 

Where,  shut  within  the  capitol,  the  hosts 

Of  Roman  soldier-cowards  hid  their  swords. 

Swift  as  the  flight  of  panic-stricken  men 

She  met,  the  vestal  virgin  ran ;  and  late 

The  closing  day  beheld  her  sitting  near 

Her  sire — Rome's  relic  of  a  century. 

The  grey-haired  daughter  clasped  the  white-haired  man, 

Blind  and  awaiting  death. 

"This  last  is  mine 

To  do  for  Rome,"  he  said.    "I  see  not  foes, 
But  hear  them.    O  my  vestal  child! — and  thou 
To  die  beside  me?" 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

"Nay  — protecting  thee, 
My  sire !     I'll  call  the  wrath  of  deities 
That  never  yet  forsook  the  hills  of  Rome  — 
Gods,  whom  I  met  at  altars,  when,  a  girl, 
Thou  gavest  me  to  holy  tasks,  will  hear 
My  prayer.    Hear  now,  ye  gods  immortal,  hear!'* 

Serenely  sat  her  sire  —  a  senator 

Stone-blind  to  all,  save  honor,  in  the  hour 

Of  Roman  shame.    Like  all  his  peers  that  night 

The  old  man  sat  him  in  embroidered   robes, 

In  death's  auroral  brightness,  saying  prayers 

Of  Fabius  Pontifex.    When  morning  came, 

He  mused  within  the  colonnade,  in  sight 

Of  all;  his  only  gem  unfilched  —  this  child  — 

Herself  a  grey-haired  virgin  waiting  death. 

His  blue-veined  hand  held  fast  the  sceptre  white 

Of  ivory ;  and  in  his  heart  was  Rome. 

"Ah,  tremble  not,  my  child,"  he  whispered  soft, 
"Would  I  had  more  to  give  to  Rome  than  age; 


132 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

A  shout,  or  stroke !    Nay !  even  these  are  passed ; 

My  life  is  now  white-embered,  wanting  flame. 

Would  I  might  see  thee  once  again!    For  now 

Thou  art  more  beautiful  in  face  and  form, 

As  in  thy  soul,  than  when  I  gave  thee  up  — 

That  fragrant  bud  of  mine,  pulsing  to  blow; 

And  thou  wast  called  Amata,  yea,  beloved! 

O,  like  that  radiant  gold  upon  thy  head  — 

A  votive  gift  hung  'midst  the  lotus-leaves  — 

That  shining  past  seems  near,  yet  quite  cut  off 

From  all  the  rank  green  present  blossomless — 

I  may  but  wait  to  perish  with  my  child. 

Hush !  be  they  Gauls  that  shout  ?    Nay,  vestal,  nay  1 

I  saw  thee  once  within  the  plostrum  there! 

Thou  didst  ride  forth,  the  lictor  just  ahead ; 

And  Roman  consuls  turned  them,  making  room 

For  thee.    Gods!    Now,  all  unattended  here, 

Thou  waitest  with  a  senator,  thy  sire  — 

A  prisoner  of  Gauls  —  to  die!  O  Rome! 

A  monarch's  life  was  spared  on  one  request 

The  vestals  made ;  and  royal  fierceness  bowed 

133 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

To  them.    Come  closer,  girl!  nay,  vestal,  come!  — 

By  chance,  a  guilty  wretch  once  meeting  thee 

Had  his  reprieve.     And  yet  a  brutal  Gaul  !  — 

Ah !  heardst  that  cry  ?    Their  feet  have  crossed  the  spot 

On  which  thou  stood'st  to  sprinkle  waters  pure 

As  thou  wast  pure,  when  Rome  upbuilt  her  fane 

Of  marble.    Mars !    Ah !  Mars  seems  dead  in  Rome. 

(Still  must  we  hold  to  faith  in  gods  supreme!) 

Then  thou  didst  guard  the  ever-burning  flame 

And  Vesta's  atrium  made  fairer  still, 

The  while  the  loved  Palladium  was  kept 

By  virgin  eyes  and  Roman   soldiery  — 

Hear,  child  !    They  clatter  on  the  street !  " 

She  saw, 

And,  statue-like,  sat  white-robed  courting  death. 
A  flame,  bright  prophecy  of  ruin,  sprang  up 
Where  erst  the  Via  Sacra  skirted  close 
The  Atrium ;  and  then  a  hotter  flame 
Burned  white  within  a  Gallic  face.    One  shout  — 
And  at  her  father's  side  she  rose,  the  while 

134 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

A  short  sword,  seized  from  death-chilled  Roman  hands, 

Gleamed  at  her  breast,  then  glittered  suddenly 

Above  the  senator,  who  silent  sat 

With  all  his  peers  —  a  long  illustrious  row 

Of  bearded  statues  on  the  marble  steps. 

The  Gallic  chief  advanced. 

"  Nay  !    Nay  !  "  she  cried, 

"  Thou  brutal  wretch ! "  (for  he  had  touched  the  beard 
And  raised  his    sword  to  strike)  "  Nay,   Gaul !  Strike 

not! 
Strike  not,  till  thou  hast  killed  his  vestal-child  ! " 

Then,  through  his  savage  thirst  for  Roman  blood, 
There  ran  the  soft  sweet  cadence  of  her  speech, 
The  o'erheard  voice  of  her  who  shone  and  stood 
All  beautiful.     His  heated  soul,  o'er-hung 
With  quivering  atmospheres  of  Gallic  hate, 
Searched  for  a  shadow  in  that  blistering  noon. 
Within  his  bosom  varying  forces  blent, 
As,  in  some  deep  grey  glen  of  bouldered  rocks, 


135 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

The  birds  trill  raptures  and  the  serpents  twine. 

"Woman!"  he  snarled  —  and  held  the  azure  edge 

Above  her  head,  then  saw  deep  eyes  and  quailed. 

New  thoughts  grew  fast,  to  shrivel  in  his  wrath, 

Like  young  green  branches  in  a  forest  fire 

That  ooze  with  life  and  burn  with  furious  flame. 

There  for  an  instant  glowed  a  sunlike  thing 

Above  the  hard  barbaric  conqueror's  head  ; 

The  ice-strong  purpose  clear  and  cold,  shone  fair 

With  streams  of  color  quivering  to  its  heart. 

Then,  hardening  again,  the  light  grew  cold  — 

The  blest  ideal  vanished  evermore. 

The  man  died  out ;  the  brute  struck  once,  then  once 

Again  ;  and  Pulvius*  thinner  blood  ran  down 

The  steps.    The  ruddy  streamlet  trickled  on 

O'er  mottled  white,  until  it  met  the  chilled 

And  sacred  treasure  of  the  virgin's  heart. 

Then  flame  was  master,  and  the  west  wind  swept 
O'er  Rome  a  desolation  fiery-tongued 
From  Palatine  to  Aventine,  the  while 

136 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

The  Gallic  chieftain  trod  across  the  blood  — 
A  blinded  monster  trampling  hapless  bloom. 

At  Curia  Hostilia,  when  flame 

Had  died  beneath  the  white-crowned  Aventine, 

The  senate  met ;  and  Rome  was  eloquent. 

One  name  breathed  majesty  and  sweetness  forth ; 

One  name  was  foulest  of  that  Gallic  horde  — 

The  vestal  virgin's  and  her  slayer's  name. 

II. 

Swift  centuries  had  gone  o'er  Rome.    A  Name 
From  Nazareth  had  brightened  through  the  night 
That  led  to  daybreak  o'er  a  moonlit  world. 
And  there  Time  sat  within  the  ancient  walls 
A-weaving  moonlight  in  with  sunlight-threads  — 
Night's  leavings,  precious  wastes  of  radiance  — 
With  first  and  silky  threads  of  morn  the  breath 
Of  God  had  blown  across  the  weaver's  loom. 

The  ancient  vestal's  task  was  yet  undone 
That  hour  she  saw  the  cross  triumphantly 
137 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Outshine  the  whitest  temple  on  the  hills. 
She  smote  her  milkless  breasts,  nor  knew  how  sure 
Through  motherhood  of  sacred  rite,  one  God 
Would  place  her  features  in  the  Christian  nun, 
Nor,  dreaming  only  dread,  when,  having  knelt 
Before  the  goddess  Vesta,  quickly  rose 
The  last  fair  vestal  in  her  snow-white  robe 
To  look  on  purple-shadowed  Sabine  hills, 
Full  confident  no  Christian's  sight  might  find 
Her  sacred  paths  or  relics  of  her  tribe  — 
Thought  she  how  soon  the  underworld  of  Rome 
From  columned  silences  of  catacombs 
Should  tremble  song-filled  with  a  sisterhood 
Like  hers — fair  virgins  worshiping  the  Jew. 

The  morning  came  to  Merida  alone. 
The  crucifix  shone  starlike  in  the  dark. 
With  solemn  murmur  all  the  kneeling  men 
Urged  through  their  clouded  faith — for  Merida 
Was  foredoomed  to  the  lion  —  the  voice  of  prayer. 
A  low  sad  rumor  spread  beneath  their  fear, 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

And  doubt  lest  God's  care-taking  governance 
Had  failed.    Then  outbreathed  Merida,  the  nun, 
Her  own  mysterious  music.    "I  shall  live — 
And  live  forever!"    Then  the  Christ  seemed  near. 

On  toward  the  amphitheatre  she  moved, 
White-chapleted  with  flowers  of  purity ; 
Firm  footsteps  awed  the  thirsty  pagan  eyes 
That  hung  upon  her  loveliness  and  peace. 
Eyes  lit  with  rapture  of  divine  surprise 
Swept  calmly  o'er  the  hundred  thousand  there 
That  looked  upon  insensate  men  who  dragged 
Red  corses  o'er  her  path,  completing  death. 
Pure  sunlight  fell  upon  the  silvery  sand 
Brought  from  afar  to  hide  the  streaks  of  blood. 
Her  milk-white  feet  had  made  a  turning-path, 
Avoiding  half-chilled  pools  of  blood,  or  splash 
Of  brown  dry  gore  uncovered  in  white  sand. 

One  rush  of  old  remembrance  dizzied  her 
What  time  she  saw  Vestalis  Maxima 
139 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND   DAY 

Beside  the  Roman  empress  seated  calm. 

Twas  such  a  thought,  like  memory,  as  that 

Of  yesterday — the  day  her  baptism  came. 

When  o'er  her  rippling  gold  and  forehead  white 

The  sprinkled  waters  fell,  the  virgin  felt 

An  old  life  thrill  her  brain ;  and  pain  with  joy 

Dwelt  in  her  heart  enthroned,  contending  there 

For  mastery  of  her.     "O,  once  there  touched 

This  head  the  waters  of  another  faith," 

She  said.    And  now  she  mused  and  nobly  turned 

And  listened  for  some  far-off  angel-strain 

Afloat  across  Soracte  clad  in  snow, 

Shaking  the  myriad  hillsides  as  it  came, 

Blending  its  harmony  with  cruel  roar 

Of  beasts,  o'ercoming  them  with  Christian  praise  — 

Mused  in  the  intervals  of  hope. 

"Lo,  here! 

This  is  familiar  ground!     My  soul!   'twas  here 
I  saw  —  or  dreamed  I  ?  —  saw  from  yonder  place 
Where  sits  Vestalis  Maxima  — saw  blood 
140 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Encrimsoning  the  sand,  heard  shrieks  of  pain 

And  saw,  or  heard,  ''Police  Verso!'    See!  — 

My  thumbs  went  down.    The  red-sailed  galley  then 

Bloomed  roselike,  moving  slow  on  Tiber's  breast, 

Yet  brought  a  lion;  wives  left  couches  built 

Of  ivory,  to  join  the  shout ;  and  there, 

Amidst  it  all,  with  royal,  sodden  leer, 

Sat,  olive-crowned,  the  Emperor !    A  dream  ? " 

A  long  and  vibrant  roar  rilled  all  the  space, 
A  green  flame  brightened  in  two  yellow  orbs, 
The  thunder  shook  the  big  brute's  tawny  flanks, 
As  out  from  damp  and  shadow,  long  denied 
The  freedom  of  his  mountain-paths  or  flesh 
Of  tender  kids,  the  famished  lion  came, 
Awed  by  the  sudden  light  of  day  and  her 
For  whose  sweet  veins  he  thirsted.    As  he  leaped, 
He  threw  the  sand  behind  him;  men  sat  still  — 
For,  midway  in  the  air,  he  turned  him  swift 
As  bird  or  light  itself.     His  outstretched  paw 
Pushed  from  his  course  the  shining  shape,  but  tore 
141 


SONGS  OF   NIGHT  AND   DAY 

To  whitest  sand  beneath  her  trembling  feet 

The  thin  white  tunic  on  the  virgin's  form. 

He  ploughed  the  sand,  and  now  the  brute  looked  round, 

And  moaned  and  panted  while  he  gazed 

Where  most  the  bright  and  amorous  sunshine  glowed 

Upon  the  sand  unrobbed  of  whiteness  yet, 

Where  stood  the  virgin  unafraid  and  calm, 

And  trampled  'neath  her  snowy  feet  the  pride 

And  cruelty  of  famished  Roman  faiths. 

A  thunderous  roar  again  shook  earth  and  heaven  — 

In  vain  the  powerless  monster  crouched  to  spring. 

And  then  the  shouts  and  thunder  died  away. 

The  air  was  awestruck  at  the  silence  white 

That  stood  and  reigned  by  right  of  purity 

Within  that  wide-walled  silence  vaulted  o'er 

With  silence,  domed  and  pitiful  as  heaven. 

Around  her  glory  unabashed  and  pure, 

The  shivering  beast  went  slowly  wandering. 

His  head  hung  low  between  his  thick-thewed  arms 


142 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

That  urged  him  close  to  her.    His  tail  curled  round 
His  leg,  and  crouching  down,  he  licked  her  feet. 

"  I  would  not  harm  thee,  helpless  brute ;  quail  not. 

Thou  art  a  punished  soul;  thy  hell  is  flame 

Of  withering  fierceness  in  thy  cruel  blood. 

Thyself  art  leonine;  yet  thou  art  he 

Whose  stolen  sword  dripped  crimson  long  ago 

When  I  escaped  the  wounded  body  —  pierced 

So  near  the  heart  I  lived  in,  I  slipped  out 

The  wound  all  bloodless,  leaving  thee  to  kick 

The  red  corpse  and  my  father's  quivering  flesh 

Upon  the  staine*d  marble  in  the  street. 

Look  up  from  out  the  snarling  brute,  O  soul ! 

For  thou  wast  once  a  Gallic  chief  in  Rome. 

I  perish  here  in  Rome  ?    Nay,  death  before 

Failed  thee  —  there,  at  the  Forum's  ancient  steps. 

Thou  canst  not  harm  me  —  thou,  who  art  a  beast!'* 

The  while  his  hot  breath  warmed  her  marble  feet, 
He  grovelled  near,  and  mourned  a  lion's  grief. 
143 


SONGS  OF  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

Majestic  agony  inflamed  the  sunlike  eyes, 
That  instant  his  uplifted  gaze  fell  back 
Within  his  sight  from  innocence  so  sure 
And  charged  with  lightning  white  as  heaven. 
No  brute  nor  man  dare  look,  and  passion  died. 

Ah,  hell  is  hell  of  fiercer  heat  for  aye, 

When  next  to  heaven's  calm,  its  hottest  flames 

Feed  on  themselves. 

"Thou  Gallic  wretch!  "she  cried, 
"Thy  hell  is  this  —  thou  must,  yet  canst  not  gaze 
On  me.     My  heaven  this  —  I  see  my  God!" 
Still  upward  looking,  lest  she  might  lose  all 
In  losing  sight  of  God,  the  virgin  fell 
Upon  the  death-sick  monster  at  her  feet, 
And  passed  from  thence  to  other  life  beyond. 


144 


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LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

OCT  2  y  1983 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6,  60m,  1  /83  BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


YC   16198 


M191947 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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